miimiiiioBU aimsmmwa aa 





EDWIN S. METCALF 



A 

V olume or 

Essays and Poems 

by 

Edwin Styles Metcalf* 

Author of 

**A. Treatise on Melody,'^ "Olio of Isms and 
Ologies/' Etc* 



CHICAGO: 
L*Ora Qaeta Publishing Co. 



For sale by 

A. C. McCIurg & Co. 

215-221 Wabash Avenue, 

Chicago. 



T5 3S-A r 



LIBRARY of C0N*3KE3S 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 13 1907 

CLASS/4 ' XXc. wO. 
COPY B. 



Copyright 

by 

E. S. Metcalf. 

1907. 






"O Reader! had you in your mind 

Such stores as silent thought can bring, 

O Gentle Reader! you woidd find 
A Tale in everything." 



"Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we 

know. 
Are a substantial world, both pure and good; 
Bound these, with tendrils strong as flesh and 

blood. 
Our pastime and our happiness will grow." 

— Wordsworth. 



CONTENTS. 



Virtues, Affirmative and Negative, Page 


! 


7 


He — the God — with name of Fate, 


(( 


34 


The Five Senses and the Hierarchy 






of Mind, 


(( 


37 


The Supreme, 


(( 


65 


An Idea, 


(( 


67 


Life, 


CI 


98 


Knowledge, Information, Belief, 


te 


101 


The Man with the Hoe, 


tt 


107 


Secrets of Melodic Failure, 


« 


109 


My Dear Little Girl, 


tt 


114 


A Tear from the Sky, 


tt 


116 


The Melodic Germ, 


it 


117 


Music, the 'Heavenly Maid," 


tt 


123 


The Melodic Design, 


tt 


125 


At Woodland Vespers, 


tt 


133 



Melodic Moods, Pa 


gel35 


The Flowers Still Bloom, 


' 146 


The Angels Know, 


' 148 


An Opportunity, ' 


* 149 


A Wreck, 


' 165 


Anticipation, 


' 167 


Fond Memory, 


' 175 


Golden Pillars of Life's Temple 


' 177 


Vermont, 


' 202 


Talien, 


' 203 


Play Saint or Sinner, 


' 204 


The Ideal, 


' 205 


Only a Tramp, 


' 216 


The Speechless Voice and Waiting 




Pen, 


' 219 


A Hero, ' 


' 245 


Cause and Effect, 


' 247 


Ghristmastide, 


" 255 


States and Moods of the Mind, 


' 257 


Suppose, ' 


' 261 


Where the Eiver Ran Low, 

4 


' 262 



The Accidents of Life, 

Angelic Beauty, 

The Soul, 

The End Justifies the Means, 

Thought, 

Life's Paradox, 

The Design and Butterfly Arguments, 

Waiting, 

Law, a Friend or Foe, 

Pat and I, 

The Final Hour, 



Page 


)263 




267 




268 




269 




277 




278 




279 




286 




289 




304 




307 



VIKTUES, 

AFFIRM ATIYE AND NEGATIVE. 



What a piece of work is man! how 
noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! 

—Shakespeare, 

As a preliminary, we ofPer that man is 
certainly a curious, interesting, and wonderful 
being. It is easily seen that he is the highest 
form of known life. And it matters not 
whether he evolved from a monkey, as Dar- 
win says he did, or whether he sprang into 
existence apart from and independent of all 
other forms of life, at the behest of an intel- 
ligent and Supreme Being. 

Be that as it may, he is here in the pos- 
session of reason, reflection, memory, discrim- 
ination, ingenuity, and many other powers, 
with a dominant will to subdue, and, in a 
great measure, to control, adjust, and adapt 
to his pleasure and service any and all other 



forms of life. He certainly is the highest 
exponent or manifestation of divine power, 
• whatever that may be. 

It is not necessary here to cite all that 
he has done, is doing, and probably will do. 
The sciences and the arts reflect his power. 
He has not only explored and investigated 
the outer world, but has explored and in- 
vestigated himself, with the result that he 
finds himself a dual affair, with a head to 
reason and a heart to feel. Yes, he is a 
wonderful mixture of thought and feeling. 

He has found himself to be the greatest 
of all wonders — a riddle to himself. He has 
also discovered that there are such things 
as right and wrong; that the one affords 
pleasure while the other yields wretchedness; 
that the one is better than the other. That 
order and peace are better than disorder and 
war. That there is such a thing as law 
in the physical world. That to be ignorant 
of this or to violate it is to be in trouble, 
while a knowledge of it with obedience and 



adjustment to it brings comfort and makes 
life desirable. 

Yes, he has done more. He has dis- 
covered that the appetites and passions of 
men are ever in conflict with one another 
and need to be regulated or restrained by 
established laws, even as the forces of nature. 

In imitation thereof, and in his wisdom 
born of experience and observation, he has 
formulated standards, a set of rules, by which 
he may measure his conduct and thereby 
know when and how to act under different 
circumstances. So it is that there are stand- 
ards of conduct, even as there are standards 
of weights and measures. 

These standards or rules of conduct, man 
thought out and man 'made, vary in different 
places even as men differ in their opinions 
in respect to the justice or propriety of their 
acts. 

Now a standard of conduct may be low 
or high. A low standard of conduct permits 
one to do many things without being cen- 



sured or punislied, whereas a high standard 
operates the reverse. A low standard of 
conduct or morals is easily complied with 
and interferes but little with one's natural 
liberties, while a high standard imposes on 
him restraints which deprive him of some of 
these. The more advanced a nation or com- 
munity is in the arts and the sciences, and 
especially the more refined it is, the higher 
is its standard of morals, as may be observed 
in the standards of different nations or com- 
munities. 

Now since conduct is practically action, 
let us briefly and in a general way consider 
some of the acts of human beings, especially 
those that relate to man as a member of 
civilized or organized society. As such it will 
be observed that he has duties to perform 
and restraints to suffer, according to his posi- 
tion, occupation, or circumstances. He must 
necessarily act, and in so doing must act 
according to the prescribed rules of the com- 
munity or society of which he happens to 

10 



be a transient or permanent member, else 
suffer its censure or penalties. 

But every act that one commits is not 
of such a nature or character as requires 
regulation, restriction, or prohibition. There 
are many acts that one is free to exercise 
even in the most advanced state of society, 
that are not properly subject to any civil or 
moral code of conduct. These are more or 
less harmless in their nature and may be 
classified as acts of propriety, since they either 
simply please or offend the wavering and 
fluctuating tastes of individuals, and are mere- 
ly subject to what are known as rules of 
etiquette, designed to shape one's deportment 
or manners on different occasions. 

So it happens that we have what are 
termed table, ball room, street, theatre, 
social, or church manners. These are but 
marks of civility, courtesy, politeness, or re- 
finement, which may and frequently do serve 
to distinguish the crude and the rude from 

the more civil and refined. 
11 



The only penalty attached to the non- 
observance of any one of the rules govern- 
ing this class of acts is either criticism, 
censure, or ostracism. Either one of these, 
however, is at times exceedingly painful and 
often more disastrous in its effects than the 
loss of things material. 

The next and more important acts are 
those that involve not only the material in- 
terests and welfare of the individual acting, 
but also those of others who are or may be 
affected by his acts. This class embraces 
all those acts that men perform in their 
business relations with one another, and are 
subject to rules that have the force of law, 
and which if violated cause forfeitures and 
penalties more or less severe, according to 
the nature and character of the acts, the 
circumstances attending them, or the natural 
or usual consequences that are likely to flow 
from them. 

We will not undertake to specify these 
acts and relations which should be better 

12 



known and observed by all men. They are 
considered and regulated in express terms by 
the civil and criminal laws of every com- 
munity, besides being defined and enforced 
in its courts of justice. They may be regard- 
ed as standards or rules of conduct. 

But we will not consider this matter 
further. The reader's attention has been 
sufficiently called to the fact that the life of 
man is one of action and relations, that what- 
ever he does affects himself and others, either 
directly or indirectly, giving pleasure or pain. 

Thus it is that acts have been classified 
as virtuous or vicious, according to their 
effects. Since an act must have an actor, 
he who performs such is regarded either as 
being virtuous or vicious, according to the 
nature, character, or effect of the act per- 
formed. 

Now virtue in its most general sense is 
very extensive in its application; but as here 
used it is limited in its meaning, and refers 
simply to the habits, customs, or conduct of 

13 



liuman beings in their individual and col- 
lective life, and stands as the antithesis and 
opponent of vice. 

Virtue, however, can and does exist in 
a potential, or passive state, as seen in many 
cases, although its best manifestations are 
to be observed in action. It is inclined to 
be utilitarian in its nature. It loves to act 
and loves to serve, not only the actor but 
others. 

Now since one has a will, and may vol- 
untarily refrain from practicing or acquiring 
a known vicious habit, or from doing or 
participating in a known vicious act; and, 
since he may do or participate in a known 
virtuous act or undertaking, it is apparent 
that there are what may be termed affirma- 
tive and negative virtues. 

AFFIEMATIVE VIETUES. 

To make clear that which may seem some- 
what obscure, let us more fully consider what 
the term virtue signifies. Thus far it has 

14 



been spoken of as though it were something 
real to the sense of sight, and existing by 
itself, capable of feeling and action. But 
virtue is not a concrete something, nor is it 
anything that can be abstracted or chemically 
separated from any material thing. But it is 
more than simply an idea of fancy set in a 
word and sometimes personified. Yet it is 
nothing that can manifest itself to any one of 
the five animal senses, as do physical things 
and their qualities or properties. So, then, 
if it has an existence, such is rather meta- 
physical in its character, and such it is. It 
belongs to what may be called the inner circle 
or group of senses, of which man is conscious, 
and which seems to feel and direct as to the 
right and wrong of things manifested in human 
acts. 

This sense seems to preside over man's 
better nature and points- — with reason and 
judgment — to what is good and best for him 
in a moral sense. It may be thought of as 
one of that group of finer senses, unseen, yet 



15 



inherent in the heart and mind of man, and 
emphatically distinct and superior in its char- 
acter and operations to the five animal senses 
which report the outward conditions and rela- 
tions of the visible world. Yes, in this group 
we find virtue, the moral sense of right and 
wrong, which, hand in hand with reason, ad- 
ministers justice and prompts benevolence. 

MAN A FEEE MOKAL AGENT. 

Now if there is one thing that is well 
settled, it is the fact that man is a free moral 
agent. It may be doubted or denied that 
there is a God; that the Bible was inspired; 
that Christ was more than a man; or, that 
there is a life beyond the grave; but that man 
by nature is free to choose what seems to him 
to be right, and to reject what appears to be 
wrong, and that he has a will power to act 
hip 'hoice, no one sane and of ordinary intel- 
ligence can logically deny. Were it otherwise 
man would be but a machine, set up to do 
solely the will of another, and being such, 

16 



could not be held accountable and responsible, 
as he now is, for his acts or conduct. Those 
who believe him to be a mere tool or machine 
rank with fatalists, entertaining and living 
with an idea that mere intuition contradicts, 
an idea that is degrading and demoralizing in 
its effects, like many other similar ideas that 
have appeared from time to time, but which, 
when properly examined and tested by exper- 
ience, reason, and logic, are thrown aside as 
rubbish, being considered as but the dribblings 
of a disordered intellect. 

Now we have said that what are termed 
moral virtues can and frequently do exist in 
a potential state; that is, temperance, veracity, 
justice, benevolence, etc., may be treasured in 
the heart or mind even as rain is held in the 
clouds, or as electricity may be at rest in a 
storage battery. 

So virtue is not attributed simply to those 
who act, but also to those who possess it in a 
quiescent state. A mind or heart in such a 
state, entertaining feelings and thoughts of 

17 



veracity, justice, benevolence, and chastity, has 
afl&rmative virtues. Of such an one it can be 
said that he is morally virtuous, although only 
passively so. 

But affirmative, quiescent virtues, although 
admirable and commendable, are as nothing 
when compared to the same in action. It is 
virtue in action that commands respect and 
applause. It is he who fights and wins on the 
field of temptation that merits and wears the 
wreath of moral approbation, not the recluse 
who fears contamination and the possible loss 
of his born innocence, and who takes refuge 
in some cloister that he may escape the con- 
flicts and temptations of life. 

Thus affirmative moral virtues are of two 
kinds, passive and active; and, as we have seen, 
are characterized by their effects. One may 
do nothing but eat, drink, sleep, move, and 
have his being, and yet, according to rule, be 
virtuous, simply retaining and preserving his 
native innocence. He is in this sense affirm- 
atively virtuous, though of little or no value 

18 



to the world, eaye it be as a model of inactiye 
excellence. Again one may act, do good and 
be right, to the satisfaction of some moral 
standard. So, then, the affirmative Tirtuea con- 
sist in being morally good, or in so acting. 

But this is not all. To merit the approval 
of virtue, one must be morally good and right 
from a desire so to be. His feelings, thoughts, 
and motives (especially the latter) must agree 
with virtue. And though these may lie hidden 
from the eye within the recesses of the heart 
and mind, even as the roots of a plant lie 
concealed beneath the surface of the soil, yet 
they are counted as the real source of moral 
goodness; since they precede and start into life 
acts or deeds intended to serve their purpose 
and indicate their character; just as the rose 
and the thistle show the nature of the seeds 
from which they spring into the full light of 
day. 

It is thus that we reason from the known 
to the unknown. We see the act or deed, and 
from its character judge of its motive. Yet 

19 



if the purpose of the act is good, though its 
consequences may be unforseen and evil, the 
actor is virtuous, for such were his intentions. 
But if the purpose of the act is vicious, then 
the actor is so, though the result of the act 
is good. Thus it is that virtue, in the last 
analysis, is fonnd to be synonymous with good 
intentions or soul impulses. 

NEGATIVB YIBTUES. 

As we have seen, aflSrmative virtues are 
of two kinds, the one passive or egoistic, the 
other active or altruistic. The one acts for 
the ego alone, the other for the alter. The 
one looks first, last, and all the time, after the 
interests, pleasures, and happiness of the self; 
the other extends beyond the self, and is active 
and on the alert for the good of others. In 
the former, we see that one of the cardinal 
virtues, namely, justice, is feeble and slow to 
act, and that benevolence (the most sublime 
of all the cardinal virtues) is absent or wholly 
lacking. In the other kind, we see that jus- 

£0 



tice and benevolence Bway and move the heart, 
neglect the ego, and, moved by the divine spirit 
of brotherly love, seek to promote the good 
of all. Yes, so broad and extensive in their 
operations and effects are these two named 
virtues, that they may be said to form the 
basis of all moral right, and to stand as the 
antithesis of all moral wrong. 

It will be observed, however, that a nega- 
tive virtue is not so easily defined. It is much 
easier and more natural to Bay what a thing 
is than to say what it is not; because we see 
the one and not the other; besides, it is what 
a thing is rather than what it is not, that in- 
terests us. 

Life, with all its beautiful activities and 
possibilities, excites us and appeals to us 
in the affirmative. It is the live tree, 
laden with rich ripe fruit, that attracts one's 
attention, rather than the one that is dead or 
fruitless. The bleak and barren waste has no 
charm for us; it is the verdant and sweet 
scented vales, hill-sides and mountains, whose 

21 



beauties and blessings we see, enjoy and affirm, 
that attract ns. 

Still, moral, negative virtues do exist, with 
their relative and comparative values. They 
are generally found in those who refrain from 
being or doing the things that virtue con- 
demns, and that vice approves. These, like 
the affirmative virtues, are of two kinds. The 
first are nearly egoistic in their character, 
since they tend to preserve and promote what- 
ever there is of good in the individual possess- 
ing them, and are termed his personal habits. 
Such a person refrains from acquiring a certain 
class of habits, withstands temptation, and 
thus triumphs over vice. So far, he is a 
negative virtue, in that he has not the vicious 
habits that virtue condemns. 

The second class of negative virtues are 
vices known to him as such, but from which 
he stands aloof and refuses to practice with 
others; as, for instance, the vices of gambling, 
drinking, stealing, swindling, etc. 

As already stated, such are his negatire 

22 



virtues, since he does not practice them but 
voluntarily resists them. Were he to practice 
them they would be some of his affirmative 
vices, but since he does not, he is said to 
have so many negative virtues; that is, the 
virtue of not doing what is known to him to 
be vicious. 

We will not undertake to mention in de- 
tail all the negative virtues, even though it 
were possible, but will simply add that those 
who curb their passions and appetites to 
within the bounds of reason, and who, when 
tempted, refrain from knowingly committing 
acts of injustice towards themselves or any 
of their fellow beings, either individually, or 
in conjunction with others, may, so far, be 
said to have negative virtues. 

So, then, it is the moral wrongs that men 
and women refrain from doing, that mark 
them as having negative virtues, while, on the 
other hand, it is what they do or are instru- 
mental in having others do, that is good and 
just either to themselves or others, that en- 



titles them to the credit of being counted as 
having affirmative virtues. 

However, there are no saints on earth. 
Christ alone had all the affirmative and nega- 
tive virtues. In Him alone we find the perfect 
model of moral excellence. He was certainly 
the spirit of virtue personified. Most men 
and women hove some affirmative, and some 
negative virtues, and, between the two, one or 
more vices. In some, the affirmative seems to 
predominate and actuate; in others, the nega- 
tive; while, still in others, there is a mixture 
of the two. The man or woman possessed of 
the greatest number of affirmative and negative 
virtues, occupies the place of honor at the 
banquet of moral excellence. 

But it may be asked, how is one to know 
the right from the wrong? Is there such a 
thing as absolute right, the antithesis of wrong? 
If there is such a thing in morals, it would 
seem that there should be but one standard 
of moral conduct, to which all men could and 
would of necessity subscribe; that instead of 

24 



ethics or morality being as it is, the art of 
conduct, it should be the science of such. 

No, there is no such thing as absolute 
right in ethics; consequently, ethics is not a 
science in the sense of being supported by 
uniform and unvarying laws or principles like 
those in physics; and yet, it approximates a 
science, since the rules and the reasons that 
it gives for human conduct are founded upon 
principles deduced from the nature of man 
and things. 

So, then, if it is not absolute in its nature, 
it must be relative, and such it is. It takes 
the ego — the self, and the alter — the other, 
to make morality or moral conduct. It is the 
ethical relation that these bear to each other 
that forms the basis of ethics, the ground work 
of right and wrong. 

It is evident, for instance, that one 
cannot tell himself a falsehood; or, strictly 
speaking, be morally unjust or benevolent 
to himself. If he were alone upon the earth, 
there could be no such thing as moral con- 

25 



duct; for his relations then would be simply 
with the brutes of the field. 

Thus, it takes at least two separate and 
distinct persons, having different tastes, views, 
inclinations, conflicting interests or relations, 
to form moral conduct. If A would be 
benevolent or just, B must exist as an 
object of A's benevolence. Again, if A 
would tell the truth, B must exist to hear it. 
There must not only be the ego, but there 
must also be the alter, otherwise there can 
be no altruistic principle. 

It is interesting to note the different views 
of ethical writers upon the various topics here- 
in touched upon; nay, profitable to note and 
study the reasons they advance; and especially 
the prineiples that they deduce as the ground- 
work of their theories or systems. Our public 
libraries contain copies of their works which 
show the consonant and dissonant views of such 
masterful Greek minds as Socrates, Plato, and 
Ariitotle, and others who have sought to dis- 
cover what is called virtue, or right and wrong 

26 



in human conduct, and the natural principles 
or ground- work of such; and having, as they 
assert, found such, have formulated rules or 
standards as guides or measurements of right 
in action. Let us briefly note some of these. 

Socrates (about 450 B. C.) maintains that 
virtue is but wisdom in action; that right is 
certain and as much a science as the truth, in 
fact the same; that it has its foundation, its 
birth and abiding place, in the nature of man, 
and not in the mere opinions of men, how- 
ever intellectually great they may be; since 
they are prone to err, and their opinions, as 
experience teaches, are liable to be influenced 
by their appetites, passions, or prejudices; and 
who, "may know the right and keep it too," 
"may hate the wrong, yet the wrong pursue." 

True it is, that nature, never subject to 
such influences, stands forvever the same, 
fixed, determined, and unchangeable in her 
laws and purposes as well as in her phenom- 
ena or manifestations. That she has no am- 
bitions, vanities, nor jealousies, to gratify, is 

27 



what slie is and seeks to be nothing else. She, 
and she alone, in all her departments furnishes 
and teaches the truth to those who seek it. 

Therefore it is that the true philosopher 
ever seeks to find in the nature of man some 
general fact or principle upon which to ground 
or base his theory or system, knowing that if 
so founded it will and must stand up against 
any and all assaults that doubt, denial, or 
sophistry may bring. He knows that when 
his theory or system is brought before the 
tribunal of enlightened thought, reflection and 
reason, the truth of such will not depend upon 
mere opinion, but can be traced to nature, and 
there found to be rooted and eternally fixed 
in the absolute, the unconditioned, ready to 
affirm his conclusions. Thus perceived the 
astute mind of Socrates. 

Plato, a pupil of Socrates, and more met- 
aphysical in his nature, finds the ground-work 
of his ethical virtue in the contemplation of 
the true, the good, and the beautiful. With 
him virtue and right exist in thought and 

28 



lofty ideals, which are to be obtained, pre- 
served, and promoted, by setting one's mind 
upon such and contemplating them. 

It would seem that both of these great 
philosophers, master and pupil, were right, 
having had the same end in view, namely, 
the right road to pleasure and true happiness. 
It is easily seen, however, that the philosophy 
of Plato, finding virtue in thought alone, rather 
than in thought and action, tends to lead to 
the cloister rather than to the field of duty 
and action. 

Aristotle, a pupil of Plato, in his ethics 
makes morality an active rather than a passive 
virtue. He finds it in doing rather than in 
knowing. Nor does he forget that the pas- 
sions and the affections are important factors 
in the scale of human conduct, and that 
they should be under the control of reason. 
Virtue with him is a mean between two ex- 
tremes, it is moderation in all things. 

While these famous philosophers of his- 
toric Athens have given the world the results 

29 



of their keen observations and speculations on the 
topics above specified, others, of their day and 
since, have made the same topics, ever alive and 
of deep practical importance to man, a matter 
of serious and scientific study, forming theories 
or systems which agree and disagree in some 
respects with the ideas evolved by those great 
philosophers; and especially so as to the ground 
and the true end of virtue, or the right in 
action. So we find the Stoics at Athens and 
elsewhere teaching that virtue consists in a 
profound indifference to pain and pleasure; 
thus making indifference and apathy a virtue. 

Again, we find the Epicureans teaching 
that pleasure is the chief good, the real object 
of life, the test of what is proper in action, 
and proclaiming that there is no immutable 
law of right and wrong. 

Again, coming down to the time of Crom- 
well, we find Thomas Hobbes, in his Levia- 
than, teaching that there is no natural distinc- 
tion between right and wrong, and therein 
laying down the principle that might makes 

30 



right, and that conscience is only fear; that 
virtue is obedience to the powers that be. 

Others we find teaching that virtue is the 
art of living well and happy. 

Again, others holding that virtue and right 
is conformity with the nature of things. 

Then again, others holding and teaching 
the idea that the principle of right is the 
greatest good to the greatest number. 

With Kant, the great German philoso- 
pher, virtue is obedience to the law of duty 
enjoined by the will against the allurements 
of all outward and sensuous influences. 

And thus we find, from the days of Socrates 
to the present time, men differing and dis- 
puting as to what is ethical virtue, and what 
is right and wrong, and seeking to promul- 
gate and establish their ideas and beliefs 
concerning such. 

But is there no moral pulsating principle 
or rule denoting the very essence of moral 
virtue and right, and which, like an axiom 
in mathematics, is intuitively true in ethics? 

81 



One that the universal heart approves and to 
which reason and logic willingly give assent? 
Is there not some such rule, infallible in 
itself, and yet so simple, and easy of appli- 
cation that even the most ignorant can apply 
it with unerring certainty? Is there not 
some rule that truly measures moral conduct 
and that stands as a true and eternal base, 
or as a beacon light in the ocean of ethics, 
indicating the true and proper course of action 
among the conflicting appetites and passions 
of men? 

Yes, there is such a rule, which is as 
true and reliable as the beautiful sun that 
swings in the blue vault of heaven like an 
angel's lamp. Nor does it require a Socrates, 
a Plato, nor an Aristotle to explain it. It is 
a rule which, if all would but follow, this 
earth would be well-nigh a paradise. You 
know the rule — Christ in his Sermon on the 
Mount taught it — it is the Golden Kule. 

This rule, "Whatsoever ye would that men 
should do to you, do ye even so to them," is 



most aptly and beautifully named — The Grolden 
Euie. Virtue is proud of it, and reason readily 
assents to it. Justice and benevolence, the 
two principal cardinal virtues, could wish for 
no better advocate. And if we add to it the 
wise injunction of Shakespeare, "This to 
thine ownself be true, and it must follow as 
the night the day, thou cans' t not then be 
false to any man," it would seem that nothing 
more were wanting to make the law of personal 
and social ethics complete. 



88 



HE— THE QOD— WITH NAME OF 
FATE. 



I was dreaming, so I'm thinking, dreaming, 

what I now relate, 
And thus dreaming, wandering, peering — 

'twas I met the god of Fate. 
Well I knew him, when I saw him — by his 

trappings and his gait. 
Well I knew his name, his calling, sure I 

was his name was Fate. 

Oft I'd read of him in story, of his power 

that mortals prate, 
And I trembled thus to meet him at an hour 

both dark and late. 
On his trail from high Olympus, with a 

grin becoming Fate; 
He, so slouchy — sneaking — crouching — 

thus he looked, I do relate, 
He — the god — whose name is Fate. 



Face to face we stood, he grinning, ghastly 

shone the lamp he bore; 
Howled the winds an insane howling, roared 

in terror — roar on roar; 
There I stood, my soul affrighted — help! — 

no help could I emplore. 
Let the god himself relate it, mortal ne'er 

met like before! 

Soon the frowning god was speaking, while 

his grin did not abate; 
"You'er the man, methinks, I'm seeking — 

tho' the hour is dread and late, 
Here's a note for you, I'm thinking," in 

deep gurgling tones he spake — 
"Eead with care! scan well its meaning! 

well you tremble! — know your fate!" 

Then the slouchy, sneaking monster, slunk 

away with dingy lamp — 
While in horror terror bound me — as I 

watched the monster tramp; 



Heard the fiend — grim, — hated monster, 
howling like some beast of prey — 

O, his howl out-roared the tempest! quaked 
the mountain! — fierce — I say. — 



Then the storm threw off its madness! 

Morning came! The lark I heard! 
Naught then seen of note or monster — ^fled 

they from the morn and bird: — 



How I hate that dream — that nightmare! 

hate the vision that it brought ! 
Oft I feel in storm and darkness all the 

terror that it wrought! 



THE FIVE SENSES 

AND 

THE HIERAECHY OF MIND. 



The five senses, servants of the mind and 
immediately identified with it in its operations, 
are indeed wonderful; not only in their struct- 
ure, but also in their individual operations. 
What were man, what were life, without them? 
How nobly they serve him; and, sad to relate, 
how often they deceive him! They, in this 
respect, are human, like all servants, and need 
watching; for they themselves are liable to be 
deceived and, in turn, to betray or deceive 
their master. Some of these are quite select 
in their nature and tastes, although easily de- 
moralized. 

The eye, the chief and most refined and 
efficient of the group, as it looks abroad 
over the land and the sea upon the innum- 
erable works of God and man, furnishes the 

37 



mind with the beauties and glories of the 
heavens and the earth, thus filling the heart 
with admiration and the soul with awe. Then 
again, under the influence of some evil spirit 
concealed within its mysterious nature, it 
frequently awakens vicious or insane emo- 
tions, such as vanity, envy, jealousy, and their 
kindred allies, thus prompting man to cruelty 
or crime. 

Yes, the eye, fond and cunning sense of 
sight, is both a friend and a foe. It can 
bring a smile, or a frown, — a laugh, or a tear. 
It is the queen of the senses and the pride 
of the mind. Ah, gem of gems! A sight- 
less world is, indeed, a dead world. The 
sun may rise and set in all its splendor; 
the moon may throw her soft and loving 
light on lover's path and wooing lake, on 
vine clad hill and towering dome; all that is 
mind engaging, beautiful and majestic in the 
heavens and on the earth, may vie together 
to captivate and charm the divine in man, 
yet, without the sense of sight all these were 

38 



lost, yes, dead to heart and soul. A Laura 
Bridgeman, or a Helen Kellar, in an endless 
night, may dream of these beautiful and won- 
derful things, but then, ah then! 'tis but a 
dream, — a dream of things never to be seen 
in all their fascinating beauty and dazzling 
splendor. 

But we will not further outline the value 
of this favorite sense; the mind of the reader will 
readily trace its varied service and dual nature; 
the pleasure it gives and the pain it inflicts. 

But the eye, the telescope and microscope 
of the mind, has a delicately organized and 
bright associate, one that is ever sensitive and 
acute in its operations; and which, like the eye, 
being dual in its nature, now furnishes the 
mind with things that are true, beautiful, and 
good; and then, again, led astray by curiosity 
or some evil spirit therein lurking, conveys to 
it evil in the form of some idle gossip or 
loathsome slander, thereby causing excitement 
within the corridors of the heart and disturb- 
ing the peace of the soul. 



Let us note some of its service. Now it 
bears to the waiting heart and trusting soul 
sweet accents of love and promise. Soft 
zephyrs, laden with the aroma of the native 
wild flower from the paradise of affection, are 
sighing through cypress boughs and blending 
with notes of the plaintive harp, while Komeo 
and Juliet, seated within the arbor of love in 
the pale of the moon, are whispering to each 
other vows of eternal bliss. This message 
alone, spark divine, borne by the ear to the 
heart of love, were enough to make its service 
immortal and entitle it to endless homage. 

But listen, it serves again. Hark! A 
mother's cooing, soothing voice is heard in 
some sweet lullaby; and now an infant sleeps 
in sweet repose. Yes, in love's bower, at the 
cradle, at the altar, and at the grave, it waits 
on the heart or soothes the soul. The eye might 
well be jealous of its boon companion, that 
animates the heart and the mind with "Home 
Sweet Home," and quiets the soul with "Near- 
er My God To Thee," while the eye looks on 

40 



and weeps. What a useful servant! What 
were life without it! What were the 

songs of the robin and the nightingale; the 
voice in the choir and the notes of the organ; 
the heart and soul inspiring symphony; the 
heaven born oratorio; the accents of prayer; 
indeed, a thousand things that reveal to the 
heart and the soul the divine in life; yes, what 
were they but for the ear. 

But the mind, in considering and estimat- 
ing the value of these two seemingly twin 
servants upon which it so much depends for 
its supply of thought material, is not only 
pleased with them, but is astonished at the 
ingenious manner in which they have been 
constructed and operate, and the fidelity with 
which they report the facts and phenomena 
of the outer world; and looks upon them 
with as much mystery as it does upon itself. 
However, it often distrusts them and requires 
them to review their reports; thus signifying 
that they are not always accurate, but, being 

human, are liable to err or be deceived. 
11 



The three remaining senses, those of smell, 
touch, and taste, are quite different in their 
nature from those above described, and may 
be regarded as menial servants, since they 
serve the body, while the eye and the ear wait 
on the heart, mind, and soul. And although 
they perhaps in their detective capacity are 
quite equal to their sister senses of sight and 
sound, yet the character of the service which 
they perform is of a type lower and less re- 
fined. The most delicate of these is possibly 
that sense which detects the fragrance of the 
rose, the lily, the violet, or warns the mind 
of lurking dangers unseen by the eye and un- 
heard by the ear. 

Similar in service is that of the remain- 
ing two senses. They directly serve the 
body in its struggle for existence, and indi- 
rectly, the mind. The intellect is pleased 
with them and appreciates the pleasures that 
the body derives from their service, besides 
realizing that were it not for them the house 
of flesh that it inhabits and animates for so 

42 



brief a time would be unworthy of its tenant. 
It is also to be observed that while these 
servants have their own individual service to 
perform, they now and then assist one an- 
other by acting as confirmatory agents. The 
eye frequently appears before the mind to 
confirm the truth of what the ear declares; 
then again, the ear helps to identify what the 
eye claims to have seen. And so it is that 
these servants aid one another by furnishing 
confirmatory evidence in matters in doubt be- 
fore the mind. Thus it will be seen that the 
five senses, each of which is a wonder in it- 
self, are not co-ordinate in rank or efficiency, 
but that they differ in this respect even as the 
members or factors of the Hierarchy of Mind 
upon which they wait. 

THE HIEEAEOHY OF MIND, 

But if the five senses of man are thus 
wonderful, how infinitely more so is that grand 
combination of faculties that are here named 
the Hierarchy of Mind, the study of which 

43 



has engaged the attention and baffled the com- 
prehension of the most astute and learned 
investigators and philosophers that the world 
has ever known. That such a mysterious 
and curiously organized something exists 
and operates within the human brain, se- 
curely at home within the skull, we know; 
but what that mysterious, acting combination 
or something is, yet remains a defying secret. 
Think of it, think of the mind hunting for 
itself and trying to identify itself, but never 
finding itself, although the conscious ego — 
thought to be other than mind — knows that 
it exists. What a mystery! How the head 
reels in contemplation of it! 

Anatomy reveals to the eye and the un- 
derstanding the lobes of the brain, its convo- 
lutions, its white and grey matter, its cells, 
its blood vessels, its nerves, and their connec- 
tions with the five senses; but then, what and 
where is mind, that mysterious, that invisible 
something, that secret and subtle force that 
seems to abide and operate within its sensitive 



44 



and curiously constructed medium — the brain? 
This is a secret that even mind itself has not 
as yet revealed to man, or his conscious ego; 
for conscious ego seems to be other than mind 
and seated on its throne somewhere in the 
dome of the intellect, free from labor of any 
kind except it be that implied in conscious 
cognition. 

Let us pause and reflect a moment. Think 
of it; yes, think of it, the mind! A thing so 
constituted that it can think even of itself, as 
we are now doing, can examine itself, and its 
operations; nay, can turn itself into a veritable 
workshop, a council chamber, a legislative, or 
a judicial body; and yet, this marvelous some- 
thing cannot identify itself save in the mani- 
festations of its acts. 

Yes, the greatest wonder in this world is 
the phenomena of mind. But let us take a 
further view of the mind, let us consider its 
working capacity, its organized and functional 
life. We find that it consists of several dis- 
tinct powers or faculties, that it is well organ- 

45 



ized for business, resembling in this respect 
some of its own creations, as, for instance, a 
corporate body, with officers and servants, 
chartered to do almost anything, good, bad, 
or indifferent, that it may undertake. 

We further find that the faculties of this 
wonderful Hierarchy are not co-ordinate in 
rank; that, like the senses, some of these are 
superior to the other members, and that each has 
its own or appointed work to do, and can do 
no other. We find that the will faculty, which 
seems to preside over all the other faculties, 
is the highest in rank, and decides not what 
ought to be done, or when, how, or where 
anything shall be done; but, on the contrary, 
whether it shall be done at all: that it is the 
enjoining power. 

Again, that the faculty of Reason, chief 
advocate to the Will, is second in rank, and 
in conjunction with Judgment, its aid and 
third in rank, performs the fine and difficult 
work of drawing conclusions from judgments 
already formed and presented to it by its as- 

46 



sociate — Judgment; that througli these three 
principal members of the Hierarchy, the mind 
performs its chief acts and is held responsible 
to Truth and Justice for any and all errors 
that it makes. 

But these do not constitute the entire 
faculty. The mind has other powers, without 
which these already spoken of would be of 
little or no use. They are Memory, Com- 
parison, Discrimination, Abstraction, General- 
ization, Reflection, and Imagination. Let us 
briefly suggest the duties or functions of these 
subordinate but important members of this 
Hierarchy 

The first of these, Memory, keeps 
the records of the past, and when called 
upon supplies Judgment and reason with 
whatever data they may require for their 
conclusions or deductions. Were it not 
for this member the past would be a 
blank, all its achievements, joys and sor- 
rows were buried in oblivion. It is im- 
possible to over estimate the value of this 

47 



faculty or power of the mind. It is the pet 
of the Ego, admired by Imagination, and loved 
by Eeflection. It lives in the past and takes 
no interest in the future. To it, what has been 
is everything, what may be is nothing. It is 
the light and delight of each member of the 
Hierarchy. When it is absent there is seen 
in its place only the dim, pale light of the 
present, flickering in the darkness of distrac- 
tion. Reason and Judgment, upon which 
it waits with its various experiences and ob- 
servations, etc., are helpless without it. They 
have no light in which to work but that of 
Memory. In it they read that from the 
known they are to ascertain the unknown; 
that in the light of the dead but living 
past, they are to predict the immediate or re- 
mote future. Thus it is that Memory that 
keeps the records of the past and holds the 
key to the store-house of experience and ob- 
servation — so essential to the grand Hierarchy 
of Mind in its observations — is a pet of the 
Ego. 

48 



We further find that Comparison and Dis- 
crimination are also two valuable members of 
this faculty, and although their work is not of 
so high an order as that performed by those 
already mentioned, yet, without their aid. Judg- 
ment can do nothing, and consequently Reason 
must sit idle. 

The first of these. Comparison, perceives 
wherein two or more things are alike and 
notes their resemblances; while the second, 
Discrimination, points out wherein they differ 
from one another and indicates their distin- 
guishing characteristics. These two members 
are seldom idle. Their work is delicate in its 
character and often very exacting. Whenever 
they make a mistake. Judgment, which relies 
upon them, necessarily follows in error. They 
seem to be almost as indispensible to the rest 
of the faculty as Memory itself. It is only by 
comparison that beauty exists; that vice is not 
virtue; that poverty is not riches; that pain is 
not pleasure; that the present is better than 
the past; and that heaven is the desideratum. 

49 



Two very important members of the 
Hierarchy are Abstraction and Generaliza- 
tion. The work performed by the former 
is of a texture fine and delicate. It abstracts 
or withdraws from an object any one of its 
qualities or properties, and then presents it 
to the consideration of Judgment for its ex- 
amination and approval. It is the only mem- 
ber of the Hierarchy that has the power to 
abstract an attribute from the object to which 
it belongs or in which it is found. This is 
a wonderful power and marks this member 
a genius. 

When Abstraction has completed its work 
Generalization takes the results of its labor 
and with Comparison places all those ab- 
stractions that are alike into a class by them- 
selves, and then gives them a name, regard- 
less of the fact that they may come from, 
or are found to exist in different objects 
By the power and aid of these two members, 
wonderful compounds or combinations, useful 
or beautiful, are formed. 

60 



But there is a member of this wonder- 
ful Hierarchy that is restless and unreliable, 
and that is never allowed to perform any 
serious work. Judgment and Reason, always 
so grave in their nature, regard it with sus- 
picion, and scan its productions and sug- 
gestions with distrust. This member is 
Imagination, and, unlike Memory, delights 
not only in the past, but has a special fond- 
ness for the future. It is a great dreamer 
and a gay deceiver, and not unfrequently 
disturbs the dignity and calculations of the 
hierarchal body. It is exceedingly romantic 
and poetical in its nature, and fond of ex- 
citing and tantalizing its more prosaic asso- 
ciates with its own creations rather than those 
gathered by the senses from the objective 
world. This it frequently does so adroitly 
that even Reason — ^the most reliable and re- 
vered figure of the Hierarchy — is led, in 
an unguarded moment, to regard them as 
genuine, and use them as factors in some 
of its serious calculations and solutions. This 

51 



wild and romantic member, which is usually 
ignored by Keason, is often seen in the com- 
pany of Abstraction by which it is much 
admired and assisted. 

But Imagination, ever dreaming and 
scheming, has a wonderful and brilliant record 
on the pages of Memory, a record that is 
frequently read with laughter and astonish- 
ment by Judgment and Reason, as they refer 
to its mythological, astronomical, moral, or 
theological effusions, and their wild and dis- 
tracting effects upon the general heart and 
mind of the world. 

Yet, not withstanding the flighty and- 
unreliable character of this member, its ser- 
vice in many respects is very acceptable. 
With its romantic and ideal effusions it not 
only serves to refresh the spirits of the other 
members of the Hierarchy, but it frequently 
makes excursions into the future and brings 
back with it suggestions and predictions which 
even Beason is bound to respect and take 
under consideration. Thus, Imagination, while 

52 



a great dreamer and a gay deceiver, performs, at 
times, valuable service as a pioneer to thought 
and Reason. To it may be traced many a valu- 
able suggestion, many a smile, and many a tear. 
At times it seems to have no conscience, and 
although often severely rebuked by sober 
Reason, it will persist in weaving tales of 
fancy, flirting with fairies on Utopian shores, 
and in suggesting the impossible and farcical. 
But there is yet another member of this 
joint faculty by the name of Reflection which 
serves in the dignified capacity of learned 
secretary to Judgment and Reason, and which, 
with its keen eye of review, frequently dis- 
covers mistakes that have been made by its 
superiors and approved by the Will. Some 
of these mistakes are comical, while others 
are serious and tend to eause even Reason 
to be suspicious of its own wonderful and 
supreme importance. As a result of these 
errors, discovered by its secretary. Reason is 
frequently compelled to appear before its 
waiting chief, the Will, and urge that the 

53 



decrees that the chief has signed be modi- 
fied, or cancelled, and that new or corrected 
ones be issued in their place. Hence it is 
that a feeling of charity exists between the 
members of the Hierarchy and its servants, 
the five senses, and that there hangs upon 
the walls of its council chamber the motto: 
"To err is human." 

All nature ie but art, unknown to thee; 

All chance, direction, which thou canst not see; 

All discord, harmony not understood; 

All partial evil, universal good; 

And spite of pride, in erring reason's epite, 

One truth is clear: Whatever is, is right. 

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan; 
The proper study of mankind is man. 

— Pope. 



U 



THE SUPREME. 



What is that mysterious something, 

Universal in space and in time; 
That formless — unseen — acting something, 

That sages have sought to define; 
That something, that permeates Nature 

With life and design — never dies; 
That soi»ething, that rules with such order, 

That commands here and there in the 
skies. 



That something, with power to give motion. 
That something, with power to give Life; 

That something, involving the notion 
Of Death — as a solvent for strife; 



That something, that's more than mere 
Nature, 
That baffles proud Science — its creature, 
That something, all mystery — fools dare to 
define. 
That something essential — all soul — the 
Divine. 



That power that gave form to Creation, 

Set the spheres in their orbits to rhyme. 
That power that gave Earth vegetation, 

Ordered Light! and made Darkness 
sublime! 
That something, to man so mysterious. 

Yet felt in his soul all the while; 
That something he feels — when most 
serious — 

The Supreme! — the Eternal! — Divine! 



AN IDEA. 

In its most restricted or philosophic sense, 
this little word, the sight and sound of which 
is so familiar to all, is entitled to more con- 
sideration than it ordinarily receives. In 
dignity and importance it ranks with such 
words as life, love, truth, and justice. It rep- 
resents an act of the mind. And as mind is 
superior to matter, even as an electric current 
is superior to the battery that generates and 
discharges it, so are the products of the mind 
superior to the material from which it em- 
anates, or which serves as its medium. But 
what is an idea? It is evidently not a material 
product, like an orange, a peach, or a rose. 
Its nature is neither vegetable, animal, nor 
mineral. No, it is of a higher order, it is a 
metaphysical product. 

Yes, an idea of the class spoken of here 
is a product of the mind pure and simple. 

67 



It is conceived in and of the mind, hence it 
is a mind product. It is, as it were, a spark 
from the mysterious and hidden operations of 
the mind; a product, the birth of which is 
witnessed by that very subtle and mysterious 
something back of it called consciousness. 
Yes, in the mind, within the confines of the 
brain, in some mysterious way, an idea, true 
or false, trivial or important, springs forth in 
the form of a mental image. Wonderful in- 
deed is this function of the human mind! 
Within the presence of this mysterious force, 
this divine in man, mind itself looks upon 
itself — contemplates itself — and its operations. 
Think of it! How wonderful! 

But every mind is not productive of ideas. 
A mind that does not evolve such is said to 
be barren of ideas, resembling in this respect 
an unproductive kind of soil, while other minds, 
more highly endowed, are more or less prolific 
in ideas. Yes, but how is one to know when 
an idea appears upon the horizon of the 
mind? Are there no manifestations of such? 

58 



Are there no certain sensations attending 
such evolutions within the brain that serve 
to announce the arrival or birth of an idea? 
Is there no sound, no pain, no sensations of 
any kind? No. One is simply conscious 
of the appearance of such. It may be un- 
fortunate, but beyond consciousness neither 
an idea nor a sensation can be traced. This 
seems to be the last known point; for when 
one is in a state of unconsciousness he is 
practically dead, not only so to himself, but 
to the world, to all things subjective and 
objective. Such then, it would seem, is the 
source, the birthplace, and the nature of an 
idea. Let us trace its life and character 
into the objective world. 

In so doing we observe that some ideas, 
when they have passed from the mind into 
the outer world, are so puny or senseless as 
to be hardly noticeable; they live as it were 
only a moment and then pass into oblivion, 
while others, because of their worth, meet 
with hearty reception, are adopted and enter 

59 



into active service. Some of these are of 
secondary importance, while others are of a 
more primary character, and serve as roots 
or fundamentals upon which theories, or sys- 
tems, or institutions are built; and that rule 
or revolutionize the world of human affairs. 
Thus an idea is as it were a thing of life 
and force; something that can be cultivated, 
organized, developed, and made to blossom 
and bear fruit like a plant. 

But an idea is of little or no value, no 
matter what its character may be, so long 
as it remains dormant or unexpressed within 
the dome of the intellect. As an acorn needs 
the soil to become an oak, so an idea needs 
the world of friction and conflict for its life 
and development. It must be set in motion 
and sent into the world of affairs for work 
and recognition, otherwise its value will never 
be known, but it will die or remain as use- 
less as an acorn on an iceberg, or as a pearl 
upon the floor of the sea, that might grace 
some fair hand of charity. 

60 



PEEOBPTS AND CONCEPTS. 

Thus, the mind has not only the power 
to perceive, but the power to conceive. It 
perceives the objects and phenomena of the 
outer world, and conceives the things which 
arise within itself — ideas. Yes, it is not only 
a perceiver, but also a oonceiver. It is this 
power of conception that produces the ideas 
to which we here refer. When one sees a 
bird or any sensible object with the physical 
eye, and is so conscious of it in his mind, he 
is not seeing a concept of the mind, an idea, 
a mental image born in the mind, but a per- 
cept, a sensible object, having an existence 
outside of the mind, the form of which is 
brought to and presented to the mind. Hence 
the difference between a percept and a concept. 
Both of these form images in the mind for 
consciousness to observe, but the images that 
percepts form are things seen with the phys- 
ical eye; while those of concepts arise within 
the mind or imagination, and hence are called 
mental images, which the physical eye does 

Bl 



not see. This, then, is the difference between 
the so called mind's eye and the physical eye. 
Hence, one seeing with his mind's eye a new 
way of doing anything — new combinations — 
new formations — with their logical results or 
consequences, has an idea; — an idea that is 
new or original if it has not previously ap- 
peared in any other mind, otherwise it is not 
original. This new idea, appearing as an 
image or concept within the mind, may have 
been evolved from thinking, or from contem- 
plating some subject, object, or question; yet, 
it is an idea, a new concept, for it was not 
before known. 

When an idea leaves its birthplace, the 
mind, it becomes, as it were, the child or 
property of the world, a sort of cosmopolitan. 
And so it is that to-day the world is full of 
ideas, cosmopolitan ideas, so to speak, here- 
tofore evolved by the human mind. There 
was a time, however, when they were not, 
until some mind produced them and sent them 
forth into the objective world of life, for recog- 

68 



nition, adoption, practice, place, and power. 

Let us consider further this little word, 
this divine spark, this world power. Let us 
consider some of the great ideas, dominant 
ideas, evolutions of great minds, ancient and 
modern, that have come into the world and 
revolutionized or modified the feelings, views, 
and actions of men; and that have wrought 
great transformations in the intellectual, moral, 
religious, and civil life of those who have 
come under their power and influence. 

In running over the pages of history, one 
finds that different minds have evolved and 
entertained different and conflicting ideas. 
Some of these pertain to the origin and nature 
of the universe; others to the life of man here 
and hereafter, his duties, obligations, and re- 
sponsibilities. Some of these are purely spec- 
ulative in their character, while others are 
practical or scientific. Yes, the entire range 
of the material or objective world has received, 
it would seem, attention, thought, and invest- 
igation; and different minds have evolved 



concerning such various ideas. From these 
different views, it will be observed that the 
simple fact that an idea evolves from the 
mind, that mysterious and most divine part of 
man — is no assurance that it is true or exact, 
for it is but a human product; in fact an idea 
may be absolutely false, or not plumb to the 
truth; hence it is subject to examination for 
approval or rejection. 

Let us briefly note some of these ideas. 
For centuries the physical eye looked upon 
the heavens and the earth, and from the ap- 
pearance of things declared to the mind that 
the earth was flat; that it was the centre of 
the universe. It further declared that the sun 
rose in the east and traveled up and over this 
sphere in the blue dome of the heavens; and 
that so on it went down and under it and up 
again in the east; thus making the same trip 
day after day, and so on century after century, 
without cessation. Thus it positively seemed 
to the physical eye of the world; and the un- 
lettered mind, trusting this sense, believed 

64 



wliat appeared to be absolutely true; nor would 
it tolerate any opinion to the contrary. 

But there came a time when the mind 
grew suspicious that its servant, the eye, was 
being deceived; for it had learned that even 
in nature things are not always what they 
Beem. So, suspicion created doubt in the 
mind, a doubt that grew strong and defiant, 
which, with an array of contradictory facts, 
battled with blind belief, thereby causing a 
disturbance in the now wide-awake and think- 
ing mind, setting in action skeptical but honest 
investigation, judgment, and reason, with the 
result that a conflicting and revolutionary idea 
was born; an idea which grew with time and 
dethroned the Ptolemaic or Geocentric idea, 
and in its place established, not what seemed 
to the naked eye as truth, but the real, the 
truth, the Copernian or Heliocentric idea; an 
idea not born of blind belief and having for 
its sole support simple and trusting observa- 
tion, but one confirmed by science, an expert 
of the mind, with its telescope and other 

65 



demonstrative instruments inspired by truth. 

Thus we see, in this one great historical 
case, that a false idea may be born in the 
mind; that it may find its way into the world, 
and there, finding favor, may become a ruling 
and defiant spirit for centuries. Again, that 
the same idea, in the course of time, may 
become an object of ridicule, or be discarded 
with contempt, when the mind, ceasing simply 
to observe, sets itself to thinking and testing 
the accuracy of its observations and conclusions, 
and so gives birth to a new and true idea. 

So then, as we have stated, an idea is a 
thing of life, something that can grow and 
bear fruit, true or false, bitter or sweet, ac- 
cording to its nature; that it is a thing of 
force; that when it once takes firm root in the 
mind and heart it is not easily displaced, but 
may, like the one above stated, live for cen- 
turies and flourish in all its falsity, defying 
even truth herself to remove it. 

This suggests the reflection that one should 
be on the alert that he may not entertain an 

66 



idea of importance, no matter how seemingly 
beautiful and plausible it may be, before giv- 
ing it a suspicious and critical examination. 

So too, from the above celebrated case 
of delusion, it will be observed that ideas that 
are born of observation alone may be false, and 
that any system or theory built upon them 
must necessarily carry the same uncertainty, 
and may not withstand the scrutiny or assaults 
of truth when it attacks such with its weapons 
of demonstration. But such ideas, however, 
are not without value. They serve to sug- 
gest to the mind what may be true, and what, 
upon proper examination, may thus be found. 
This prompts us incidentally to remark, that 
a mind which simply observes is not apt to 
produce ideas of any kind, that if it harbors 
or entertains such they are but echoes from 
other minds. In fact, one may observe or 
enjoy for a life time what the senses yield, 
without ever having an idea. 

But let us return to our subject. There 
are ideas that appear in the mind which are 



67 



not suggested simply by observation as was 
the Ptolemaic theory, but which are evolved 
from observation and experience supplement- 
ed by methodical thinking; ideas which invite 
inspection and furnish demonstration. Ideas 
of this variety were not native to the prim- 
itive mind. Methodical and scientific think- 
ing was not a flower of the Nile, the Tigris, 
or the Euphrates. True, the human mind 
was there, star-gazing, earth surveying, meas- 
uring shadows, and proudly guessing, and 
sometimes hitting the truth; but then from 
mere observation with crude instruments the 
mind could evolve little more than what the 
senses furnished. Correct ideas may, it is 
true, arise intuitively, as it were, in the un- 
tutored mind; yet, they are of but little service 
until organized and developed by science, 
their friend and demonstrator. It was by 
methodical and scientific thinking that Co- 
pernicus and his successors evolved and dem- 
onstrated the truth of his theory and the 
falsity of its predecessor, the Ptolemaic theory. 

68 



It was by such thinking that Sir Isaac New- 
ton discovered to the world the laws that 
govern the movements of the planetary system. 
It is nothing uncommon to see an apple 
fall from a tree to the ground; but from this 
observation, in Newton's mind there sprang up 
an inquiry which he subjected to methodical 
thinking and reflection, with the result that 
his disciplined mind evolved an idea that solved 
a great problem, a mystery of the planets. 

And so it is that this class of ideas 
has revolutionized the thoughts, actions, and 
beliefs of men. It is due largely to such ideas, 
products of skepticism and honest inquiry, that 
superstition, the bane of the world, has dwin- 
dled from a giant to a pigmy. It is due to 
such that imagination, the playful dreamer 
and gay deceiver of the world, has been un- 
masked and made to bend the knee to rea- 
son, as she sits on her throne in the purple 
robes of science wearing the crown of demon- 
stration. 

It will be seen by reference to history 

69 



that it was not merely the observing mind, 
but the thinking, experimental, and demon- 
strative mind, that evolved and developed the 
idea of the alphabet, as it did later the print- 
ing press. And this, too, when science was 
yet young or in its embryonic state. These 
two inventions, products of ideas evolved from 
thinking and reflection based upon observation, 
are, perhaps, the greatest that the human mind 
has ever evolved for the improvement of man 
and the advancement of civilization. 

In fact, every invention or the improvement 
of such in the different arts and sciences since 
the days of Archimedes, when the screw, the 
wheel, the lever, and the pulley were invent- 
ed, may be traced to some mind that evolved 
the idea of such from the exercise of its higher 
faculties, termed the discursive faculties of the 
mind, and not merely from thoughtless obser- 
vation, one of its perceptive faculties. True, 
some of these may have been suggested or 
started by common observation, as was the 
steam engine, when Watt, upon seeing the 

70 



cover of a tea-kettle lifted by the force of the 
steam that boiling water generated. 

The sight of this common occurrence 
forcibly suggested to Watt's inquiring and 
thinking mind the valuable power of steam, 
and that this force might be produced in 
larger quantities and satisfactorily applied 
to practical purposes. This suggestion he 
submitted to the higher faculties of his mind, 
to its discursive faculties, that is — to judg- 
ment, reason, and reflection, with the result 
that in due course of time his mind evolved 
a concept, an idea that suggested other ideas, 
thus forming a chain of ideas, which finally 
led to and terminated in an improved steam- 
engine, which put to flight the steam-pump 
and gave to commerce a mighty impulse. 

To such, to ideas suggested by observa- 
tion and experiment, as well as to ideas that 
spring up in the mind independent of these, 
(if such can be) all the inventions in the 
arts and sciences may be traced. Again we 
say, how wonderful is mind! how wonderful 



71 



its intuitive faculties! how marvelous its dis- 
cursive faculties! 

But not only has the material, the ob- 
jective world received the attention, the in- 
vestigation and the consideration of great 
reflective and reasoning minds, which have 
evolved ideas concerning its nature and phe- 
nomena, but similar minds have passed be- 
yond the objective world and made excursions 
into the metaphysical, into realms which lie 
beyond the limits of the five senses; and in 
so doing, have evolved with more or less of 
reason, various metaphysical ideas; and with 
these ideas as a basis have formed doctrines, 
or theories; and for their promulgation, growth, 
and preservation, institutions have been es- 
tablished. 

But, as already stated, with these meta- 
physical ideas the five senses have nothing 
to do. How so? Because their powers are 
limited to the physical, the objective or mate- 
rial world. They were never designed to 
reach beyond these objective boundaries; 

72 



therefore they are left behind, as it were, 
when the imagination in its excursions with 
speculation and assumption travels outside or 
beyond these boundaries. 

Yes, the eye, though aided by the telescope 
and the microscope, can not reach beyond 
matter in any form. Its powers are limited, 
which is true of each of the five senses. 
Yet, man is conscious, and his reason tells 
him, that something does exist that is not 
physical; that there are existences that none 
of the five senses can discern; existences, 
the nature and character of which are known 
(if at all) only through the discursive faculties 
of the mind; faculties which speculate with 
them and give them a philosophical or meta- 
physical classification. And, as we have said, 
such existences do not make themselves known 
directly to the mind through any one of the 
five senses, therefore, these cannot prove that 
such exist or inform the mind of their nature 
or character. 

Besides, these existences are so fine or 

73 



subtle in their nature, that no faculty of the 
intellect, other than reason, can account for 
them. Reason, and reason alone, the deity 
of the human intellect, is the only member 
of the hierarchy of mind that even attempts 
to define them; and when it fails so to do, 
they are set aside and classified with things 
mysterious, just as mind itself is, and thus 
remain for crude or refined speculation. 

Some of these existences lie hidden, 
though active, in things within the boundary 
lines of the phenomenal or material world, 
and there, as forces, act within concrete sub- 
stances known to the five senses. Yet, as 
they are concealed from the cognition of the 
five senses, they should be classified with 
general metaphysical ideas, since all that exists 
beyond the knowledge of the five senses and 
that acts within the physical may be termed 
metaphysical. This classification would agree 
with the meaning of the Greek prefix meia, 
which signifies beyond, and which, when it 
is placed before and combined with the 

74 



word physical, forms the word metaphysical. 

So then, when reason realizes that some- 
thing is, and that it lies beyond the reach 
or knowledge of any one of the five senses, 
but which something is referred to the mind 
to determine its nature, this something should 
be classified with things called metaphysical. 

True, if the term metaphysical be taken 
in its most exclusive or restricted sense, it 
should exclude everything but Absolute Being 
and Mind; that is, all but pure abstract ex- 
istence and mind. 

These two elements, Absolute Being and 
Mind, when set aside from all else and con- 
sidered by themselves in the abstract, (if such 
be possible,) independent of everything with 
which they are or may be connected or in 
which they are found to exist, constitute pure 
metaphysics. But even then, the human mind, 
the only mind that man has or is conscious 
of, operates through the brain, a physical 
substance, a substance that the human eye 
can see. So then, if the mind and all its 

75 



operations is a metaphysical subject-object, 
then whatever we realize or are conscious of, 
and that is not matter in any form, and 
whose effects we note, and which we name 
force, energy, or life, etc.; and which lies 
concealed though active or able to act within 
the things of the world of matter, ought to be 
regarded, it would seem, also metaphysical; 
just as we regard the mind that acts in and 
through that material or concrete substance 
which we call the brain. 

We know that we study the objective world 
by beginning with the phenomena of things, 
as they present themselves to the sense of 
sight, or as we realize their existence, effects 
and character through the senses; that we 
next proceed to inquire as to the causes of 
said phenomena or effects; and that so on 
we move through nature up to the human mind, 
and so on in imagination up to pure, abstract, 
or Absolute Intelligence, that we say created 
and permeates the causes, effects and phe- 
nomena of the physical, and beyond which 



there is nothing conceivable but unlimited 
time and space. But then, this intelligent 
something, absolute in its nature and independ- 
ent of any matter or concrete substance con- 
taining it, seems to be beyond the power of 
the mind to comprehend; and all that mortal 
mind can do is to give it a name and speculate 
as to its nature and character. 

So, as stated, it would seem that every- 
thing that no one of the five senses can 
realize or verify might be classified as meta- 
physical, even though such operates through 
or is connected with the physical, and thus 
simplify knowledge. But, on the contrary, we 
have three classifications, namely, one called 
Science; one termed Philosophy, and one 
named Metaphysics. The meaning of these 
technical terms and their distinctions, the 
popular or common mind does but vaguely, if 
at all, comprehend; hence they fall upon the 
common ear of the world with an obscurity 
and a weight that tends to produce within 
the mind a feeling of apprehension and 

77 



awG. Let us linger here for a moment. 

We study and acquire a knowledge of the 
material world, and then classify this knowl- 
edge and call it science. Again, we study 
and ascertain the causes and reasons of the 
phenomena and the effects of this same material 
world, and then call this knowledge with its 
explanations, Philosophy. Then we pass on 
beyond the physical up to mind, up to mys- 
tery; and there, at the beginning of things, 
minus the five senses, in solitude and darkness, 
begin to speculate and guess as to what Being 
or Mind is, and then arrogantly and pomp^ 
ously name our guesses and speculations — 
metaphysics. Yet, there, minus the demon- 
strations that the five senses afford, reason 
itself becomes dizzy and unsteady, and soon 
longs to leave the lonesome field of airy ab- 
stractions and distractions and return to 
its natural plane, to enjoy things physical and 
metaphysical in the concrete, in company with 
the five senses. 

But the imagination is of such a nature 

78 



that it can soar to altitudes and revel in an 
atmosphere more rarified than can human 
reason. Yes, imagination even claims to have 
eyes and ears. It claims to see things that 
reason cannot trace; nay, to visit places un- 
known to time and space. It is a sort of free 
lance or sport in the hands of speculation. 
And so it is, that in the field of metaphysics 
we find imagination supplying even reason 
with fiction, without fear of being detected by 
any one of the five senses; with fiction cun- 
ningly mixed with a subtle element of truth, 
without any satisfactory means of separating 
the two. Again, even reason, when at work 
in pure metaphysics, seems to take kindly to 
the aid of imagination, notwithstanding the 
latter's bad reputation for fiction rather than 
fact. 

But science, in contradistinction to meta- 
physics, confines itself to what the five senses 
can verify or confirm. It uses reason only in 
conjunction with the five senses, and never 
speculates as to what is or may be beyond 

79 



the physical world. Philosophy, on the con- 
trary, seems not averse to speculation, but 
rather delights in it, and often presumes to 
extend its conclusions beyond physical causes 
and sober reason into the realm of meta- 
physics; and from that lofty region heralds to 
the world its assumed discoveries and explan- 
ations. 

Hence it is, that the dividing line be- 
tween Philosophy and Metaphysics is to the 
popular mind so obscure or vague; that the 
scientific, the philosophic, and the metaphys- 
ical, fall upon the common ear in such con- 
fusion and are so little comprehended. 

Hence it is, that these three so-called 
sciences sit as a sort of triumvirate or tri- 
unity, and properly, or improperly, rule the 
hearts and minds of men. Hence it is, that 
in such we find dogmatism and assumption, 
especially in matters of philosophy and meta- 
physics. Science, however, and Science only, 
swings free from the charge of dogmatism, 
and uses assumption or hypothesis only for 

80 



the purpose of ascertaining the truth, and 
is so true to herself that she will not stop 
short of confirmation by the five senses. 

Now let us note some of the ideas that 
the mind has evolved in matters that lie be- 
yond the ken of the five senses, and which 
therefore, are subject to honest doubt or 
unbelief. These ideas all relate to the be- 
ginning or the end of things; to the First 
Great Cause. They are purely metaphysical, 
since they originate in the human mind, and 
there only, and because they cannot be verified 
by any one of the five senses; yes, even reason, 
deity of the mind, hesitates to endorse them, 
although implored so to do by curiosity, de- 
sire, or faith. 

Now the mind of man is so constituted, 
that in its cultivated state it can trace 
everything in the natural world from its 
phenomena or effects back to its first cause, 
back to the origin or the beginning of all 
things; yes, up to mind, that seeks the Abso- 
lute, which is greater than the human mind. 

81 



But there the mind of man is compelled to 
halt; there it meets the very soul of mystery, 
yes, mystery wrapped in mystery, that neither 
the mind's philosophy, its science, nor its long- 
ings can solve.. There it is forced to halt, 
on the border land of Mystery, and wonder, 
and speculate, and guess; and in so doing, 
the mind, to relieve the tension of curiosity, 
or the throbbing of the heart's desire to 
know the eternal, evolves an idea, which may 
or may not be true. Then again, fearful of 
death, the thoughts of man turn to the end 
of things, and there repeats the process of 
speculation, until his mind, urged by his 
heart of burning desire to live on in some 
form forever, evolves an idea, to satisfy his 
hopes and his fears. 

Here, again, mystery defies and coolly 
denies his proud philosophy and tearful re- 
quests, and forces him to take consolation 
from inference and faith. 

Now, ideas that promise man a future 
after death, that excite his hopes and his 

82 



fears in that direction, naturally, and in fact 
do, interest and concern him more than do 
ideas that speculate as to the origin of him- 
self or the universe. And since death is 
inevitable and parting with those we love 
painful, there is ever a longing in the gen- 
eral heart and mind to know beyond a doubt, 
what, if anything, awaits the ego when death 
overtakes it. Hence, the most important and 
prominent idea that the human mind has 
ever evolved, is the one that proclaims the 
existence of a Supreme Being. A Being who, 
it is claimed, orders man into the world and 
out of it. A Being who controls his destiny 
here and dictates what shall be done with 
him after death. So, we find that on this 
subject different minds throughout the cen- 
turies have evolved different and conflicting 
ideas. 

Now since an idea, when it is formed, 
must have a name to preserve and identify 
itself, a name by which it may be recognized 
and discussed, so it is that the idea that we 

83 



in our language call God or the Deity, has 

received in different tongues different names, 
while the general idea thus evolved has been 
marked, as a doctrine — Theism; and those who 
adopt and believe in it are called Theists, 
in contradistinction to those who do not be- 
lieve in it, and whom we call, Atheists. 

Be it remembered, however, that Atheism 
is a term that does not represent an idea; 
because it is a negative term, which denies 
Theism, a belief in the existence of a 
Supreme Intelligence. An idea is always 
expressed in the affirmative. Whatever is, is 
affirmative, while its negative, like darkness, 
(which is but the absence of light) is nothing 
— not even empty space. It simply denies 
the existence or the truth of what is affirmed, 
and then attacks the proof by which the 
affirmative seeks to establish itself. 

Now, since different minds, great minds, 
evolve different and conflicting ideas as to 
the same identical matter, especially in mat- 
ters of metaphysics, which lie beyond the 

84 



reach of Science or the five senses, so, too, 
it is that we have different and conflicting 
ideas as to the nature and truth of the things 
now under consideration. Some minds have 
evolved the idea that there is but one God, 
and this idea has been named Monotheism, 
mono, as a prefix, meaning one. Other minds 
have evolved the idea that there are two gods, 
an idea termed Bitheisna or Ditheism, Bi or 
Di, signifying two. 

Again, other minds have evolved the idea 
that there are three gods, hence the name, 
Tritheism, tri, signifying three. Other minds 
have evolved the idea that each of the forces 
of Nature has a god of its own that pre- 
sides over it; hence the name Polytheism, 
poly, signifying as a prefix, many. Finally, 
other minds, studying Nature and meditating 
about her, have evolved the idea that God 
is only the combined forces of Nature, an 
idea that has received the name Pantheism or 
Oosmotheism; the prefix pan, signifying all, or 
plurality in totality. 

85 



So, we observe that when one notes the isms 
of metaphysics, he sees that a large number 
of conflicting and contradictory ideas have 
been evolved in different minds in regard to 
the first, the ultimate, or the Absolute Cause 
of all existences. He finds that the human 
mind, in regard to Theism, has evolved ideas 
of one God; yes, and a plurality of gods; 
that according to some minds, the heavens and 
the earth are metaphorically full of gods; that 
some of these gods are superior while others 
are inferior in power and rank; that some 
preside over and control the individual forces 
of Nature, while others, living in the air or 
somewhere in spirit form, are more especially 
interested in the affairs of man, and have 
the power to aid or defeat his plans or hopes; 
that they stand ready to reward or punish 
him, according to his devotion or neglect of 
them, etc. 

Yes, this medley of ideas, the human, sane 
mind has evolved; ideas that seem to deny 
that the Ego, either innately, intutitively, or 

86 



consciously, knows or can find its God, the 
Absolute. Then, again, other minds, like that 
of Zoroaster, an ancient Persian philosopher, 
have evolved the idea that there are two prin- 
cipal gods, adopting the idea or principle 
generally held by the ancients; namely, that 
from nothing, nothing can be produced. The 
idea entertained in Zoroaster's mind from 
observation and reflection was, that spirit and 
matter, light and darkness, are emanations 
from on© eternal source; that the former is 
good; the latter, evil; but that, through the 
intervention of the Supreme Being, the con- 
test would at last terminate in favor of the 
good principle. He also conceived the idea 
that various orders of spiritual beings, gods, 
or demons, have proceeded from the Deity, 
and are more or less perfect; that the human 
soul is a particle of divine light, and that it 
will return to its source and partake of its 
immortality, etc. Thus the ancient, Oriental 
mind conceived, and endeavored to explain 
the origin of all things by the principle of 

87 



emanations from an eternal fountain of be- 
ing. Again, other minds have evolved the 
idea that there is but one God, but one 
Absolute Being. That this one God is eternal, 
and the Author of everything that ever was, 
is, or ever will be. That man is, because God 
is. That the fate or future destiny of man, 
this one God orders and controls, etc. 

Thus, as to these metaphysical problems, 
we observe that reason, the deity of the mind, 
has evolved ideas; "ideas of reason" on the 
border land of speculation. And yet, they 
cannot be termed purely metaphysical, for 
they have as a basis, ideas drawn from the 
physical world and confirmed by the five 
senses. Many of these ideas are based upon 
what is termed analogy; ideas which are 
practical and warrant legitimate assumptions 
or inferences in physical or worldly matters, 
and whose truth or falsity, time sooner or 
later confirm. But such ideas, are inadequate 
to solve the mighty problems of the origin 
and the ultimate of all things. 



It is, therefore, curious to note tlie antics 
that the reason of some brilliant minds has 
performed when prodded by desire in its 
holy of holies in order to gratify curiosity, 
or the longings of the human heart. True, 
from the known we ascertain the unknown; 
but then, when we ascend into the dome of 
metaphysics, the problems there presented are 
too serious and subtle for even reason to solve, 
and all that it can honestly do is to furnish 
the understanding with questionable inferences, 
and send the waiting, persistent, and unsatis- 
fied heart to Hope and Faith for further 
assurance. Some philosopher has said: 
"Nature conceals God; man reveals God." 
Well, if mystery is God, these propo- 
sitions are true; for Nature has revealed to 
man that the Alpha and the Omega of all 
Creation, which lies concealed within her 
dominions, is Mystery; a mystery that man 
cannot find or comprehend. 

Thus we see, that ever since man was, 
the human mind, from its observations of 

89 



the objective world, and from its investiga- 
tions in matters metaphysical, has conjectured, 
speculated, inferred, and finally evolved differ- 
ent and conflicting ideas as to mysteries that 
lie beyond the limits of the five senses. 

So, then, in the midst of so many con- 
flicting and contradictory ideas as to how 
things began and how things will end; and 
in the absence of any truth furnished by 
the senses; and, finally, because of the inabil- 
ity of reason to satisfy the curiosity and long- 
ings of the general heart and mind of the 
world as to what exists, again we say, is it 
any wonder that doubt prevails? that some 
philosopher and doubting Thomas has said 
that, "The world grew light-headed, and forth 
came a spawn of isms which no man can 
number?" Is it any wonder that there have 
been and are so many different doctrines, 
creeds, sects, and schools of thought or 
philosophy, more or less in conflict with 
one another ? 

Is it at all surprising that the voice of 
go 



doubt is heard in matters not confirmed by 
the five senses and an unbiased logical rea- 
son? Is it not clear that the doctrine of in- 
fallibility and the voice of dogmatism deserves 
but open contempt and rebuke, while honest 
skepticism and serious agnosticism are worthy 
of respectful and thoughtful attention? Does 
not history and tradition maintain what is 
here suggested? 

Now we know that an idea is only a 
product of the human intellect; that it should 
never be regarded as a fact, notwithstanding 
it may have sprung up in the mind from 
the observation of a fact or facts and become 
the germ of an inference or a deduction. 
We know that it is only a mental image 
thrown upon the canvas of the mind for 
reason to consider. We know, too, from ex- 
perience, that it may or may not be true; 
that it is subject to the critical examination of 
reason and reflection, which time may or 
may not approve. Again, that when found 
to be true in fact, it is then pronounced gen- 

91 



uine, and is no longer called an idea but a 
fad, and is tlien classified with facts or truths. 
Furthermore, that there is no man, dogma, or 
creed on earth, that can convert, ridicule, or 
brow-beat a false idea into a fact, although 
the voice of doubt or unbelief may be silenced. 
That a fact always weighs more than an idea. 
That an idea only assumes the weight of logic 
when it has reached a point of fact, or has 
blossomed into truth. Again, that a fact or 
truth outweighs all the possible fiction that 
sophistry or rhetoric can produce. Not that 
the mind in an intuitive or imaginative mood 
or state is incapable of conceiving some un- 
known fact or truth, but that until an idea 
has been proved to be a fact, it is not en- 
titled to change its name from idea to fact 
and lay aside its swaddling infant garb. 

It might be interesting and profitable to 
consider the force of an idea when it has 
taken a firm root in the human heart and 
become a dictating or controlling spirit. Were 
we to do this it would lead us into painful 

92 



as well as pleasant paths of thought and emo- 
tion. We would see the bloody hand of 
ignorance and passion obeying that hydra- 
monster, superstition. We would see human 
beings meekly bowing and worshiping idols 
of wood or stone; fanatical mothers throwing 
beloved and innocent babes into the river 
Ganges; others being crushed by the Jug- 
gernaut. We would see men fearing and 
worshiping supposed demons. We would 
visit heathen temples and oracles and see 
beautiful and innocent young lives offered as 
sacrifices to the gods of myth. We would 
hear the fervent prayer of Jesus in the Garden 
of Gethsemane; witness Him nailed and mur- 
dered upon a cross at Mt. Calvary. We would 
behold the horrors of the Crusades; of the 
Spanish Inquisition; of Saint Bartholomew, 
etc. We would see men and women burnt 
at the stake, or thrown into dark and loath- 
some dungeons to suffer torture and long for 
death. These and many other superstitious, 
fanatical, cruel, and heart rendering scenes 



93 



we would witness, until in shame and horror 
we would cry out with Pope, "Alas! man's 
inhumanity to man, makes countless millions 
mourn." We would also see individuals and 
nations rise to heights of might and splendor, 
and then fall with a terrible crash, never to 
rise again. 

Ay, the force of an idea, whether true 
or false, is fearful, wonderful to contem- 
plate ! 

But all the ideas that the mind has put 
forth have not emanated from minds of cruel- 
ty, superstition, or fanaticism. When Christ 
came into the world, He brought with Him 
ideas that tuned the distracted heart aright 
and pointed reason to its false assumptions 
and cruel deductions; ideas that battled with 
that monster, superstition, and left it bleed- 
ing and dying in its lair. Since His agoniz- 
ing voice was heard upon the cross of fanati- 
cism, the ideas that He proclaimed to the 
world have blossomed and ripened into many 
a noble and humane institution; yes, where 

91 



once was heard the voice of despair and 
lamentation, now is heard the voice of praise 
and thanksgiving. Since then, the Q-olden Eule 
has become more of an active reality, so that 
there is less gloom in the world and more 

joy- 
Thus we have feebly and imperfectly 
defined and illustrated the nature and char- 
acter of an idea; traced it to its birth-place, 
and from there into the outer world of human 
affairs. We have seen that it may or may 
not be true to fact; that even in physical 
matters it is wont to be in error, even as 
the five senses are; that it is subject to exam- 
ination by reason in the light of known facts, 
and may be cast aside as unimportant or 
false. We have seen that even in physical 
matters it has shamefully imposed upon hu- 
manity. 

Again, we have seen that in metaphysical 
matters, where the passions of the heart and 
the soul are especially interested, it has fre- 
quently played the part of a villain, wrecking 

95 



the hopes and lives of individuals and shat- 
tering society and nations. 

Thus we have seen the force of an idea. 
We have also observed that an idea has its 
moods and tenses, like a verb; that one idea 
may be cold aud mathematical^ that another 
may be dripping with passion, as observed 
in the Crusades and other religious move- 
ments; while yet another may be the offspring 
of lofty purpose and alive with ethical love 
and spiritual thought. 

So, then, it is seen that metaphysical ideas 
may be ethical, logical, psychological, or the- 
ological; that in ethical, or theological mat- 
ters, ideas are frequently but germs of passion, 
or sparks from an insane or disordered mind. 

True, then, an idea that suggests serious 
changes, or which, if acted upon, may serious- 
ly effect the life or happiness of an individual 
or the world at large, should be examined 
with suspicion, and should not be approved; 
nay, not even entertained, until cool and enlight- 
ened reason and reflection have placed upon 

96 



it their seal of approval. And even then, be- 
neath this seal should be conspicuously written 
in bold letters: Without prejudice and 

SUBJECT TO EEVIEW. 



"One truth is clear— What erer is, is right." 



"In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies; 
All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. 
Pride still is aiming at the blessed abodes. 
Men would be angels, angels would be gods." 



"All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul." 



"Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night, 
God said, 'Let Newton be!' and all was light." 

***** 

"Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate." 

— Pope. 



97 



LIFE. 



Oh! great — little word, with a content 

divine, 
Why wait ye yet longer, thyself to define? 
The secret thy heart holds, still running 

with time, 
We pray thee surrender that secret 

sublime. 



Since time was, ye've kept it — why longer 

withhold 
Its meaning, its purpose, yet only half told? 
'Tis time to end conflict — thy secret unfold, 
We long for its meaning, with a longing 

that's bold. 



We look down the ages, our sight meets 

but strife. 
Lo! now there is combat, the battle is rife! 
No sign in the heavens — tho' radiant with 

light, 
Life still is a riddle — or short is our sight. 

Then why yet delay while we grope and 

we pray — 
For a light that should turn life's gloom 

into day — 
We beg in our flight to the region of light— 
For a sign that shall give us thy secret — 

aright. 

Half-hearted we pray, and half-hearted we 

sing. 
Doubt clangs on the ear while cathedral 

bells ring. 



Today we are right, — and tomorrow we're 

wrong — 
Our creeds ever changing with prayer and 

with song. 

We point to the cross — as the "Light of 

the World." 
Then march our battalions with banners 

unfurled, 
To ravish and plunder — our greed to 

appease. 
Then praise we the Father — our conscience 

to ease. 

Ah! something is wrong with the prayer 

and the song, 
Else why are things mixed so — the right 

with the wrong, 
Perhaps we might say, right and wrong is 

the way. 
Ordained thus it seems — since both here 

hold sway. 



KNOWLEDGE— INFOEMATION— 
BELIEF. 



What a difference there is in the meaning 
of these three words ! How the first represents 
that which radiates light and assurance! How 
proudly confident and satisfied is he who knows, 
and knows that he knows! To be in the 
possession of truth verified by one's own 
senses, is certainly a satisfaction not easily 
over estimated. Yes, there is beauty and 
force in the Spanish proverb that runs: "He 
who knows, and knows that he knows, is wise, 
seek him." 

How much weaker is the second term, 
information, a substitute for the first; mixed 
as it is with more or less of the element of 
doubt. Information, forces an appeal to reason 
and reflection, which can only return an opin- 
ion that may terminate either in belief, doubt 
or unbelief. Thus it is that we have what is 

101 



termed direct and indirect knowledge, with 
their relative forces. What one sees or hears, 
or what any one of his five senses in their 
normal condition makes known to him, affords 
him direct knowledge. What others tell him, 
or what he reads, is indirect knowledge, only 
information, which he, upon personal investi- 
gation or research, may find to be true, or 
false. Hence, the difference in value, other 
things being equal, between knowledge direct 
and knowledge indirect. 

Again, if what one reads or what is said 
to him, he considers as being true, then, such 
information forms in his mind what is called 
belief. To be ignorant, is to be without knowl- 
edge, directly received through some one of our 
senses or from information derived from other 
sources. No one, however, is totally ignorant, 
though he may be very illiterate. All human 
beings possess some degree of actual personal 
knowledge. Who is so ignorant that he does 
not know that food satisfies hunger, or that 
water quenches thirst? But one's actual 

102 



personal knowledge of a subject or thing may 
be either very limited or very extensive; or, 
again, one's information concerning the same 
may be very extensive while his actual per- 
sonal knowledge of it may be nothing. Yet, 
for various reasons, the information thus 
given may strike one as being true, and may 
excite in his mind belief. So, in the one 
case, we have personal sense knowledge, while 
in the other case, we have simply informa- 
tion, though it may be sufficiently strong to 
induce belief. Thus the reflective reader will 
note how important it is to discriminate be- 
tween knowledge that comes through one's 
own senses, i. e. personal experience or ob- 
servation, and that which, although termed 
and counted as knowledge, is, in reality, noth- 
ing more nor less than information, though 
it may induce and be worthy of belief. But, 
it will be said, most of us act upon in- 
formation and belief, that it were well nigh 
impossible for us to live and transact the 
affairs of life independent of such. 



103 



Yes, no doubt, the majority of mankind 
act upon information and belief, since it is 
impossible for any one to see, or bear, or 
experience, everything, even though he might 
be able to comprehend such. Thus it is, 
that one's personal knowledge of things is 
very limited, while his information and be- 
lief may be almost unlimited. But this does 
not make the two terms equal in sense or 
importance, nor does it impair or strengthen 
the term faith or belief, that must attend 
or succeed information to make it as convinc- 
ing as actual knowledge. True, one's senses 
may deceive him, even as appearances are 
often deceiving, but other things being equal, 
it cannot be justly said that information, oral 
or written, or supported by an oath, is equiv- 
alent, in fact, to knowledge that comes to one 
directly through his own senses. 

Nor is it any rejQiection against one that 
he, in matters of grave importance, demands 
to see with his own eyes; nay, at times, to 
confirm his sense of sight by some one of his 



104 



other senses, when possible, even as did the 
disciple, known as doubting Thomas, when he 
was in doubt as to whether the person before 
him and speaking was, indeed, the risen Christ. 
Yes, in matters of great or serious importance, 
it is far better to wait in honest doubt, than 
to rush into the arms of blind belief, to be 
spirited away to some fold of insane fanaticism, 
or bigotry. Aye, there is truth in the follow- 
ing words of an eminent poet: "Faith, fanatic 
Faith, once wedded fast to some dear false- 
hood, hugs it to the last." 

Those who are easily convinced, who on 
slight evidence believe a thing to be true or 
false, are called credulous. Now, credulity is 
one of the most facinating features of child- 
hood. Then it is, that one knows little or 
nothing, in the true sense of the word, but is 
ready to believe all. Then, the mind is in an 
inquisitive and receptive state, and is unable to 
investigate, analyze, deduce and form opinions 
true to fact. Then it is that error in the 
form of information easily takes root in the 

105 



heart and the mind; error that blossoms into 
belief, to which the heart and the mind later 
cling with deadly tenacity; even though the 
mind may have so developed as to discern for 
itself truth from falsehood. We need not 
recite any of the multitude of instances there 
are to prove what is a matter of common 
knowledge. 

It is neither the child nor the adolescent 
mind that can appreciate the value and meaning 
of the three terms here considered. The only 
purpose of this essay is to impress upon 
those capable of reflection, the necessity of 
giving to each of these terms its due weight 
and influence in matters of grave importance, 
if they would be just to themselves as well 
as to others, and would live in the light of 
facts rather than dwell in the obscurity of 
doubt, as a slave or tool for fancy, or super- 
stition. 



lOS 



THE MAN WITH THE HOE. 



The man with the hoe, honest labor, we 

know, 
Firm his step, strong his arm, as he goes 

forth to sow; 
Aye, better is he with hands calloused and 

brown, 
Than the knave, or the snob, or effete, of 

the town. 



For his wife and his babes in the oot on 
the hill, 

In the fair fields of Nature he toils with a 
will; 

There, the lark and the robin and nightin- 
gale sing, 

In the sweet scented airs that the morn and 
eve bring. 



So the man with ideas, and invention we 

know, 
Who Boars like the lark, with his brain all 

aglow; 
'Twas he made the hoe and invented the 

letter, 
That his brother might use them, and make 

his lot better. 



Then honor to both, — honest hoe, mighty 

letter, 
When weighed in the balance, — which one 

is the better? 
The answer is simple, when honest the 

test. 
Better he who serves Grod and humanity 

best. 



SEOKET OF MELODIC EAILUEE. 



Why is it that so few of the thousands 
who study harmony in our schools of music, 
term after term, with a desire to compose, 
ever find themselves able or qualified to write 
even a simple melody that has a meaning all 
its own, and that, in a musical sense, is gram- 
matically and rhetorically correct; a melody 
that bears the marks of design, of unity, of 
variety, of symmetry, and proportion, of order, 
with points of repose ; and above all, a melody 
that tells a story, that engages the head and 
the heart? Why is it that the student, after 
he has familiarized himself with the nature of 
the scales, the intervals, the chords, in their 
various positions and inversions, the manner 
in which they agreeably succeed one anoth- 
er, the preparation, and resolution of discord- 
ant elements, cadences, modulations, etc., finds 
himself with a mass of musical material, and 

109 



with a strong desire to compose, and yet, is 
powerless to write, in any methodical way, 
so much as a sentence of melody? We find 
him at the piano endeavoring to woo from 
the keyboard any sort of melody that it may 
yield to the touch of his aimlessly wander- 
ing fingers. He sits there waiting for some 
sparks of inspiration to fly forth that may 
please his fancy; and if, perchance, a few 
notes appear, he hurriedly jots them down, 
and then returns in pursuit of additional ones, 
and so on until he finds that he has linked 
together enough of them, to make, what seems 
to his undisciplined-melodic sense, a melody, 
which upon examination shows neither design 
nor method. As his mind sought for noth- 
ing in particular, so whatever presented itself 
was indefinite and accidental, and, when heard 
in succession, was vague, and contradictory. 
He feels that something is wrong, and is in- 
clined to think that he is not gifted, and so 
finally gives up in despair. 

Now what is the reason of all this? Is 



110 



it because he is not an Italian? Would it 
have been otherwise had he been born in 
the land of song, poetry and romance, be- 
neath the skies known to a Rossini and a 
Verdi? Is his failure due to birth, and en- 
vironment, or is it because the spirit of mel- 
ody, native to all hearts, has been neglected, 
left undisciplined and undeveloped, while all at- 
tention has been given to the study of harmony, 
which is but an attendant and subordinate force 
to melody? Indeed, herein lies the secret of his 
failure. He has been constructing, analyzing 
and parsing chords, instead of devoting a 
part of his time to the construction of mel- 
odies without reference to harmony, except 
in so far as it might have been necessary in 
making melodic cadences, and in modulating 
from one key to another. 

It will be admitted, by those who are 
at all familiar with the matter herein pre- 
sented, that what I have said is true. It 
will also be conceded that the manner in 

which musical composition is taught at the 

111 



present time in most of our schools of music 
does not lead to composition, and is radical- 
ly defective; that these antiquated methods 
should be set aside and better ones formu- 
lated and adopted. A method should be 
adopted that will give the pupil, in conjunc- 
tion "with his study of harmony (a knowledge 
of which is not to be ignored and which, of 
course, is essential, in order to compose well), 
abundant exercise in the art of forming mel- 
odies. Glasses distinctively melodic should be 
formed, wherein every species of melodic 
structure should be taught. In such a class, 
it should be shown how to form melodic de- 
signs, phrases, sections, periods, and also how 
these may be properly joined together, so as 
to form the series into a perfect melodic chain. 
In this way the pupil will learn how to de- 
velop the spirit rather than the body of the 
composition, so that the soul rather than the 
matter thereof will stand forth in bold relief, 
as it should. Then, the student will find that 
American skies are as friendly and inspiring 

112 



as those of Italy; that the spirit of melody 
has its technic, and is not averse to being 
ruled and regulated by the laws of unity, 
variety, symmetry, and proportion, and that 
it makes its best appearance when so intel- 
ligently ruled and regulated. 

Of these things the writer speaks advis- 
edly, for he was a student at Boston, and 
at Leipsic, under the above criticised meth- 
ods. With a proper system, the student should 
find it easy to write correct and expressive 
melodies. 

Qenxbaij Gbant (at Banoeoe in Siam.) 
"A guard of honor presented arms, the band played 
the 'Star-Spangled Banner,' which was the first time 
they had heard that air in the East, all the other bands 
they had encountered laboring under the delusion that 
our national air was 'Hail Columbia.' As the General 
does not know one tune from another, it never made 
much difference so far as he was concerned." 

— General Grant's Travels, P. 364. 



113 



"MY DEAR LITTLE QIRL." 



Have you Been my dear little girl, 
Dear to me ae the sea to the pearl, 
With ways soft and dainty, eyes drooping 

with love, 
With movements and voice like a young 

cooing dove? 



Well, she's mine, that dear little girl, 
Who makes pretty and modest the curl 
With her shapely and dainty, artistic-like 

fingers; 
How dear is the time and the place where 

she lingers! 



There are many quite like her you say, 
Who resemble her much in their way, 
With her yoioe and its notes and her loving 

caresses, 
With her sweet, pretty ways, bright eyes 

and fair tresses. 

Oh, yes, but my thought runs this way, 
To what lies far beneath the wild spray; 
The pearl is not seen on the wave or the 

crest; 
The sea keeps its worth hid away in its 

breast. 

Thus it is with my dear little girl, 
Whom I love as the sea loves the pearl; 
Her ways that so charm are the wild spray 

and crest. 
But the pearl so admired you'll find deep 

in her breast. 



A TEAR FROn THE SKY. 



I caught a tear as it fell from tlie sky, 
Whence came it but from an angel's eye? 
I felt its heart beat, heard it sigh, 
These words it breathed: "Forgotten, 
why?" 

I dropped the tear, from it would fly — 
When lo ! a spirit form drew nigh, 
And with a sad, grieved look and sigh, 
Complaining said: "Forgotten, why? 

I stood reproached, on spirit gazed, 
As from the earth the tear it raised, 
Then, with the same grieved look, amazed, 
The spirit left me, speechless — dazed. 

Still throb those words upon mine ear. 
Yet follow me the sigh, the tear; 
The face I saw in spirit dear 
Was one I knew and loved once here. 



THE MELODIO GEEM. 



On looking into the different departments 
of the physical world, our curiosity is excited 
by the discovery that all things therein, which 
present such varied, bewildering, and bewitch- 
ing phenomena, can be reduced either to their 
constituent parts, and so on infinito to atoms; 
or, they can be traced with unerring certainty 
to their respective germs, wherein the life 
principle from which they spring lies wrapped 
in mystery, before which, face to face with 
its God, the finite mind of man stands 
amazed and dazed. With haughty mien, these 
tiny atoms, energized with gravity and motion, 
proudly point to the universe with all its 
potency, as their great unit — their supreme 
resultant. So, too, with pride excessive, points 
the mystic germs to mighty life, with all its 
developments, and achievements, its inherited 

117 



and inheritable glory, as its marvelous issue 
and incomprehensible ultimate. One of the 
leading attributes of this sublime unit, the 
physical world, is that known by the term 
acoustics; which is of such extension and so 
universal in its laws as to form a distinct 
department in the science of physics. As 
sound, under certain conditions, has the power 
to generate or awaken emotions, we are pleased 
to ascribe to it an element of life, harboring 
invisible germs, so to speak, as varied in 
their character as the affections of the human 
heart. 

Now, all tone- material is of the acoustic 
world and subject to its laws. It may be 
said that every melodic idea, or melody, as 
well as every musical production of whatever 
kind or form, has its melodic germ or germs, 
which the ear easily identifies, and which, by 
repetition, variation, or evolution, multiply, 
and develope into tone-creations of greater or 
less magnitude, until we have the Sonata, the 
Symphony, or the Oratorio — rivaling even the 

118 



music of the spheres, and transporting us in 
delirious joy. 

If it be true that these emanate from what 
we are pleased to term the melodic germ, with 
what interest and tender affection should such 
be sought for and considered. Of all the 
great masters of composition, none, perhaps, 
appreciated this more than did Beethoven, 
in whose works we find this germ or these 
germs quite pronounced and highly developed. 

HOW IDENTIFIED. 

Whenever two or more notes equal or un- 
equal in value, one of which has an accent 
to indicate its life, immediately succeed each 
other, and are melodically connected and de- 
pendent one upon the other for the melodic 
sense they express, — there, is exhibited a melo- 
dic germ. This, however, is not the parent 
germ from which all melodic germs spring. 
This parent germ is represented by the whole 
note, the unit of all melodic germs. By 
dividing and subdividing this unit — the whole 

119 



note — there is evolved a variety of melodic 
germs, affording material for the formation of 
a great variety of melodic designs. Thus, the 
whole note equally divided gives us two half 
notes, the first evolved germ. The second 
division gives us four quarter notes, the sec- 
ond evolved germ. By continuing this process 
up to what is denominated the sixty-fourth 
note, still other germs are evolved, until, as a 
result, there lies spread out before us an equal 
and progressive division of the whole note — 
the parent germ, with its family of melodic 
germs. It will be observed that this act is 
easily performed, that even a child, knowing 
how to divide, can do it. The next and ad- 
vanced step in this process of development is 
a trifle more di^cult, but still quite as mechan- 
ical as the first, as it requires no genius to 
perform it. It is the act of selecting and 
joining together two or more of the germs 
evolved by the division of the whole note, and 
thus forming a melodic link or design. This 
will be longer or shorter according to the 

120 



number of germs or notes consecutively con- 
nected to form such, without reference to the 
measure or the time in which they are to be 
executed. When this act is performed it will 
be noticed that the emotional character of the 
links or designs thus formed, that is, whether 
pleasing or otherwise — whether serious or gay, 
depend upon the character of the fragments 
or subdivisions of the whole note that have 
been chosen and joined together, as well as 
upon whether they move skipping about much 
or little upon the stafp, and also upon the 
rapidity of the motion used in executing 
them. 

There is much more, in connection with 
illustrations, that might be said upon the mat- 
ters herein presented, that might prove to 
be of profit and interest; but we will conclude 
with a simple reminder of the time-worn truth 
and adage that: "Oaks from little acorns, grow," 
— a maxim with a warning voice ever heard 
in clarion tones at the gates and within the 
corridors of the temple of universal art. Who- 

121 



ever, then, would secure the key that shall 
pass him beyond the gates and into the tem- 
ple of worthy achievements, must be content 
to linger long enough among the germs or 
first principles of his art to acquire and use 
them with efficiency. 



"There's not the BmaUest orb which thou behold'st 

But in his motion like an angel sings, 

But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 

Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 

The man that hath no music in himself. 

Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds, 

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils: 

The motions of his spirit are dull as night. 

And his affections dark as Erebus. 

Let no such man be trusted." 

— Shakespeare. 



It2 



MUSIC, 
THE ««HEAVENLY MAID." 



How strange is thy mission, thy dual life 

here, 
With a song at the cradle and one at the 

bier, 
With a song for vile Bacchus as he reels at 

the feast, 
And one for the saint, as he prays with 

the priest! 

We find thee disporting with evil and 

good! 
How strange! — "Heavenly Maid" — How 

misunderstood! 
The tyrant, brute hearted, finds joy in the 

lyre! 
Lo! Nero he fiddles while Rome is on 

fire! 



Thy strains on the air the fierce battle 
urge! 

Then mingle thy notes with the sobs of the 
dirge; 

The battle now over, thy notes did in- 
spire — 

The orphan now hears thy sweet voice in 
the choir. 



Pray tell us, Sweet Maid, from thy home 

in the sky — 
What place have brute Nero and Bacchus 

on high ? 
Do their voices there blend with the harp 

or the lyre? 
Or have they no place in the Angelic 

Choir? 



THE MELODIC DESIGN. 



In the preceding essay, entitled ''The 
Melodic Germ," I considered, by way of 
analogy, the whole note as the parent germ 
of all musical germs, and sought to show 
that from a division and subdivision of it, 
there would evolve a variety of material for 
the formation of melodic designs. We now 
drop this analogy, which has served our 
purpose, and observe that the whole note, 
in and of itself, as well as its fractional parts, 
is as lifeless and devoid of content, as are 
figures or words. 

The whole note only represents a unit 
of time, as do notes of lessor value, fractions 
of shorter duration; it and they being only 
characters used to indicate the length of time 
that the sounds which they represent occupy 
or engage the attention of the ear, and nof 

125 



the eye. This they do and nothing more. 
And although they do but this, their value 
and meaning to the musician are as living 
realities. To him the sight of them is sufl&c- 
ient to start into life and motion about his 
disciplined ear, the melodies or harmonies 
they represent, just as the sight of words, 
when formed into sentences and placed before 
the sight of those who understand their mean- 
ing, brings before their vision, scenes, situa- 
tions and events, identical with or similar to 
those they have experienced. 

Apparent as this is, worthless indeed are 
notes or words to one who would compose, 
but who has no ideas of his own or another 
to express. But how, it may be asked, are 
these ideas obtained? From whence do they 
come? Are they to be found by wistfully 
looking into the face of nature; or rambling 
among its romantic and beauty-bedecked fields 
and hills; or visiting its inspiring haunts? 
No, no! These may excite and serve to in- 
spire, but will not create. 

126 



Sound is not a visible object, like a bird, 
a deer, a flower, or a bee, whose size, form, 
color, and habits, the eye can see, and the 
pen with words set forth in verse or prose. 
It has no external marks. The eye cannot 
perceive it, hence it cannot describe it; be- 
ing, as it is, a hidden property of creation, 
something felt but not seen; a sort of ab- 
straction, akin to what is termed a concept. 
It is, however, capable of organization; and 
its divine attributes can be made to delight 
the ear and inspire the heart, as effectually 
as can that invisible and subtle something 
called electricity be organized for the service 
of man. 

To effect this organization, sound is sub- 
jected to certain, fixed, vibratory laws of a 
musical character, and then regulated by those 
of rhythm, so as to pass in review before the 
melodic or harmonic ear and meet its ap- 
proval. But enough of this. We now pro- 
ceed to show what a melodic idea is and 
how it is formed or created. 

127 



HOW TO FOEM DESIGNS. 

The smallest possible, melodic fragment, 
is termed a design. It requires at least two 
notes, heard in succession, to form it, al- 
though it may consist of more than two. 
These can occur on one and the same or 
different degrees of the staff. When they 
occur on different degrees, the design that 
they form is more marked, since it is made 
of notes differing in pitch. Again, these 
notes may or may not be of the same de- 
nomination. If they are not, the design will 
be more striking, and still more so, if it 
moves up or down, or skips about upon the 
staff. This is the way to start into being 
a melodic idea. In this manner we find it, 
and in this way we form it. This feature 
of the work is purely mechanical. So far 
it requires not the mind of a genius. Note 
what a variety of designs these little melodic 
links can form by combining notes of different 
denominations and arranging them differently 
each time. 

128 



But these little designs, divine sparks of 
melody, interesting though they be, cannot 
alone form a melody, no more than can two 
or three words tell a story; they simply start 
it, suggest it, and form a link of it. 

Having formed a design, the next thing 
in order, is to know how to develop it, so 
as to form a melody. 

DEVELOPMENT OF DESIGNS. 

The only way to develop a musical de- 
sign so it will form a melodic idea — a small 
section of melody, or a complete one — is by 
repeating it in its own or other keys. In 
this way, and this way only, does melodic 
development take place. In a musical compo- 
sition, to develop is to repeat in various 
ways that which has already been set forth. 

MELODIC IDEAS. 

A melodic idea can be formed of either 
a single design, or of two or more designs 
combined, if they be short ones. The dis- 
tinction between a design and a melodic 

129 



idea is found in the fact that the latter must 
have, at least, a one-forth cadence, a repose 
point; equivalent to a comma, whereas a design, 
being, as it were, but a single word, and not a 
phrase, cannot express enough to demand a 
cadence. Herein lies the distinction between 
these two fragments of melody. 

In many instances, however, a design, in 
and of itself, is of sufficient length to form 
a melodic idea — a small section of melody — 
and ends in a one-fourth cadence, the small- 
est point of melodic repose. Sometimes this 
point of repose is a one-half cadence, like a 
semi-colon, but such is not the law or rule 
of a design proper. 

VARIETY OF DESIGNS 

It will be noticed that a variety of these 
designs can be formed, just as a variety of 
designs or patterns for wall paper or other 
things can be formed, and which are some- 
times called figures. Designing, then, it will 
be observed, involves invention, and calls into 

130 



action a creative imagination, which becomes 
stronger and more efficient, ready and rapid, 
if constantly exercised. 

Be it remembered, then, that a melody 
is composed of designs — melodic fragments — 
complete in themselves — even as the earth is 
composed of atoms; and by the repetition — 
the development of these designs — a short or 
long melody is produced; whose beauty or 
striking qualities are to be traced to and 
found in the one or more designs that have 
been linked together in repetition. 

Thus we see the beginning and the end 
of a melody; where to find and how to form 
a variety of melodic ideas. 

COMMON-PLACE ID1A8. 

When we hear a melody that is common- 
place, it is because its designs are so. Some 
designs are striking and fascinating, like some 
faces, or bits of landscape. These, when 
properly selected and developed, with their 
cadences and modulations, make a striking 

131 



or fascinating tone-picture; one recognized, ap- 
preciated and sought by lovers of music. 

When I studied with the well known 
author and theorist, Prof. Eichter, at the 
Leipsic Conservatory of Music, in 1870, I 
noticed that he had a little book in which he 
had written a great variety of designs for 
ready use as occasion might require. He 
said to me: "These are my gems." 

In conclusion, let me say to those who 
would improve themselves in the art of writ- 
ing melodies: Make designs! Make as many 
as you can! Play them! Sing them! Note 
their weak and strong points; why some have 
greater individuality than others, etc. 

Then link one or more of the homogeneous 
ones together, and repeat them — thus stretch- 
ing them out — into a complete melody. In 
this way, sure as day follows night, melodies 
will come forth in great profusion and variety; 
success will follow earnest and well directed 
efforts. 



isa 



AT WOODLAND VESPERS. 



I strolled and mused through weird fres- 

cades, 
Among wild grottoes and cascades; 
Where perfumed air and singing bird 
My spirit soothed — reflection stirred. 

While gazing on a thought that sprang 
From memory's youthful bower and sang; 
An angel came, as an angel could, 
And reigned o'er Solitude — there in the 
wood. 



Then, holy the place and holy the scene, 
As day was declining in twilight serene^ 
The angel presided in sweetness supreme, 
O'er woodland and bird and fading sun- 
beam. 



A note now of reverence, from trumpet is 

heard, 
The angel calls "Vespers" to woodland and 

bird; 
Now silent, quiescent, — bird, insect and bee, 
Now quiet the breezes in leaf covered tree. 

Now, softly and sweetly on summer eve's air. 

Where spirits abide in abodes that are fair; 

Sweet music transporting floats up every- 
where, 

A mingling of praise with a breathing of 
prayer. 

Dear Talien, some of heaven and its rapture 
was there. 

Ah ! might you have iDeen there a blessing 
to share; 

Away from the rude of the world and its 
glare 

At Vespers — with Nature — our souls whisp- 
ering prayer. 



MELODIC MOODS. 



By way of introduction, it may be said 
that the life of man is one of sunshine and 
shadow. His passage from the cradle to the 
grave is one of variant moods. Now his heart 
beats quick in joyous anticipation; later it 
quivers in grief or apprehension. His lot is 
a day of the sweet and a night of the bitter: 
a mixture of moods. He is a smile, a laugh, 
a song; a sigh, a tear, a wail, a groan. 

These emotions of a brighter or a darker 
hue have their analogies in color and sound, 
and may be classified and termed the lights 
and shades of his earthly existence. And as 
the artist of color, with brush and pigments, 
can these awaken, excite, disperse, or depict; 
so, also, can the tone-artist, though to an in- 
finitely higher degree, set in vibration, with 
voice or instrument, each and every shade of 



135 



emotion known to the human heart. Such is 
the subtle power of melody and harmony. 
Eecognizing this truth, Martin Luther, the 
great reformer, said, "Next to theology, it is 
to music, that I give the highest place and 
the greatest honor:" And, although not quite 
so lofty in terms, yet more touching and 
abiding, sang the charming poet, Keats, in 
the following spirit- woven strain: "Let me 
have music dying, and I ask no more de- 
lights." Within its divine domain, he found 
lights and shades to blend and vibrate with 
those of the heart in its darkest as well as 
in its brightest hour; strains divine, to waft 
the soul, wreathed in smiles, beyond the 
clouds to its eternal home. These pleasing 
realities and analogies lead us to seek the 
origin of melodic moods, and to study their 
formation. 

MOOD OF SCALES. 

The two main sources of melodic light 
and shade, lie slumbering within the major 

136 



and the minor scales. In these the tone- 
artist finds his material for designs of divers 
moods. In the major scales — light predomi- 
nates; in those of the minor — shade is supreme. 
The former correspond to the lighter and 
happier emotions; while the latter answer to 
those of an opposite character. 

These analogies are apparent to every 
discriminating ear. A melody set in a major 
scale is more cheerful than one set in a 
minor. True, melodies of a pensive kind are 
found and can be formed in the major scales; 
but the shade or sadness of such melodies 
does not arise from the general character or 
mood of these scales, but rather from the sym- 
pathetic nature of the intervals selected and 
the manner of their succession in the form- 
ation of such melodies, as well as from the 
slow, wavy, and dreamy movement assigned 
to them. As evidence of the correctness of 
this impression, we refer to those fireside 
and devotional melodies, so universally known; 
as, "Home, Sweet Home;" and, "Nearer, My 

137 



God, to Thee." The same may be said of 
nearly all diatonic and winding melodies of 
hypnotic motion. 

MOOD OP INTERVALS. 

As the scales have their moods, so, like- 
wise, have the intervals. Some of these are 
very pronounced; especially is this true of the 
minor, the diminished, and the augmented in- 
tervals. How sad and sympathetic, the minor 
third; also the minor sixth. How beseeching 
and full of pathos, the minor seventh; and 
how especially true is this of the diminished 
seventh. And who can hear the augmented 
fifth, or the augmented sixth, without a feel- 
ing of solicitude akin to pity? Melodies into 
which these are woven, play directly upon the 
heart. They set in motion its chords of sym- 
pathy, and cause it to respond to the general 
mood diffused and vibrating through the mel- 
odic designs that have been so united as to 
blend in a melodic whole. 

138 



The moods of the remaining intervals of 
the scales do not seem to appeal so much to 
the heart as they do to the intellect. This 
is particularly true of the perfect intervals; 
namely, the fourth, the fifth, and the octave, 
which seem to be of a thoughtful or reason- 
ing character. This is their speculative or 
meditative mood. 

We recognize them by their strong, posi- 
tive, or negative character. They are stoical, 
neutral, and unsympathetic; they impart to 
melody strength and vitality. 

As to the major intervals, they may be 
said to occupy a middle ground. They abide 
in neither the heart nor the head, but stand 
between, with their neutral moods, ready for 
service on either side. They sympathize, how- 
ever, more readily with the moods of the minor 
intervals. 

Thus, it will be noticed that there are 
four distinct classes of intervals; that each 
class has an individuality, or mood, of its own; 
that they are rich in variety and beautifully 

139 



adapted to the formation of every species of 
melody. 

MOOD OF MELODIC MOTION. 

The entire mood of a melody, however, is 
not to be found in the scale or scales in 
which the melody is written, nor in the in- 
tervals used in its formation, but, in a degree, 
in its motion and the course of its movements 
upon the staff. Therein we find not only its 
life, but also its total or joint mood. One 
realizes this as a melody marches or glides 
along more or less rapidly in a direct, zigzag, 
or meandering manner and rhythmical order 
through measured space upon the staff, stim- 
ulated by accent and refreshed by candences. 

Thus moving, it bears on the wings of its- 
motion, not only the moods of its scales and 
intervals, but also the mood of its motion. 
Yes, there is such a thing as mood in melodic 
motion. And, as there is a variety of move- 
ments, and as each variety has its own par- 
ticular mood, it is clear that in different mel- 

140 



odic motions, there are several distinct moods, 
which, correspond, in a general way, to the 
different moods already mentioned. 

Sentiments and emotions of happy life, 
are light of heart and light of step. Hence, 
melodic movements expressive of such ought 
to be of a corresponding character. To picture 
such emotions in melodic designs sluggish at 
heart, and in motion funereal in step, would 
be to express them in a mood of design and 
one of motion better suited to the grave, the 
stern, or the gloom of life. In such a case, 
there would be a conflict of moods — a cross 
relation— which would result in an effect quite 
other than that desired or anticipated by the 
composer; and would tend to neutralize or 
destroy much of the merit that his melody 
might otherwise possess. 

The inner life, the spirit of a melody, 

reports itself to the ear in the speed and 

path-way of its motion. It carries with it 

two distinct moods; namely, one of motion, 

and one of direction. By the former term 
141 



we mean the mood of its degree of motion ; 
by the latter, the line of march that it pur- 
sues in its onward movement upon the staff, 
independent of its speed. As it proceeds, 
it may ascend or descend upon the staff; or 
it may move straight aheadj or, again, it may 
take a roving, or zigzag line, like a meadow 
or mountain brook. Each of these movements 
has its personal mood. What a variety of 
scales, intervals, designs, path-ways and de- 
grees of motion, with their respective moods, 
at the composer's command! 

The melody of a heart joyous from love, 
plenty, and leisure, expresses its melodic mood 
in waltzing, or skipping to and fro upon 
the staff; while one laden with the sorrows, 
disappointments, and lamentations of life, finds 
its echo in a melody whose course is diatonic 
or undulating, with a degree of motion that 
is sluggish, weary, or despondent. 

Thus, it will be seen that the character 
of a melody depends much upon the path 
it takes in making its way upon the staff, 

142 



Again, that the mood of its path- way can be 
lost or smothered by giving to it a degree of 
motion whose mood is averse or foreign to 
that of the former. True, then, moods have 
tempo; and it is also true that moods of 
motion and those of direction ought to blend, 
otherwise, there is a cross relation, detri- 
mental, if not destructive, to melodic merit. 

MOOD OF PEEIODS. 

As is well known, a melody can be of 
a length sufficient to require in its formation 
several distinct, yet related, periods. Through 
each and all of these there may run but 
one sentiment or prevailing mood. As an 
example of such we refer to Sullivan's "Sweet 
and Low," whose hypnotic movements and 
tempo are quite uniform throughout, and 
exquisitely suited to its verse or text. An- 
other perfect example is Schubert's "Serenade," 
in which the heart sings but one mood or 
passion, that of love; and whose only varia- 
tion from beginning to end is that of in- 

143 



tensity. The same is true of Gottschalk's 
"Last Hope," wherein is to be found tlie 
spirit of but one mood, breathing through 
all its periods, with a degree of motion but 
slightly varied. Such pieces, true to nature, 
live forever, 

But from what we have said it must 
not be inferred that each and all of the 
periods of a melody must invariably have 
but one and the same mood. The text or 
verse before the composer may contain a 
variety of moods, in which case, the melodic 
mood of one period ought, of necessity, to 
diflPer from that of each of the other or re- 
maining periods representing different moods 
of verse. This would be true to nature, true 
to life; for individuals are not always in the 
same mood of heart or frame of mind, nor 
are all scenes or events; hence, the necessity 
of varying a melody on its way through a 
series of periods so as to make it conform 
to the different moods expressed in the verse 
or text of which it is the exponent. For 

144 



instance, in a melody of three periods, the 
first of these might represent the heart in 
its gayety; the second, might express it in 
a state of despair; while the third, might rep- 
resent its return to hope and fruition, in ac- 
cordance with the moods as they may occur 
in the verse or text controlling it. The 
same is true in ideal composition, where 
there is no text or verse with fixed moods 
to govern; but where the composer is fancy 
free to select his own moods and pass from 
one to another adlihitum, as his genius and 
the laws of affinity, or contrast, may direct; 
thus weaving the divine threads of his celes- 
tial art into songs without words — symphon- 
ies — sonatas — and like productions. 

Finally, we would add, that the psycholog- 
ical and esthetical views herein so imperfectly 
represented, cannot be regarded with indiffer- 
ence or ignored by those who aspire to real merit 
or fame in musical composition. To disregard 
these underlying principles and their affinities, is 
to meet with failure by ignoring the divine in art. 

145 



THE FLOWERS STILL BLOOM. 



Tlie flowers still bloom as when we met, 
Where silver brook runs laughing yet; 
There still the soft, sweet zephyrs play, 
And nightingale sings her sweet lay; 
There stars yet shine bright o'er the way, 
Where forth we strolled in twilight gray; 
And echoes answering echoes tell 
Words that our hearts remember well. 



There, as the dew drops gently fell, 
My proud heart dared its love to tell; 
I loved thee then, I love thee now — 
A love more pure ne'er heart did vow. 



I still in dreams admiring trace 
A Paradise in thy sweet face; 
Thy tender voice and queenly grace, 
Still haunt my soul, naught can efface. 



Oh cruel Fate! that did us part! 
That would invade and wreck my heart! 
Yet deigned no recompense to give 
Save only this: it bade me live 
To sigh, and weep, and long, and grieve, 
For what I lost, beyond retrieve ! 
Perhaps 'tis best — but angela know, 
That thee I love as years ago. 



THE ANGELS KNOW. 



The angels see — the angels know 
Why mamma loves her baby so; 
A sense so pure, so all divine, 
One cannot reason — nor define. 

Yet, mothers know 'tis not the same 
That lovers feel when they it name; 
A mother's love lies deep beneath 
The love that weaves the bridal wreath. 

The nightingale sings sweet her song, 
As lovers stroll the woods along; 
But morning stars and angels sing 
When they pure natal bells hear ring. 

O, baby mine! — treasure divine! 
My heart is full — my life is thine; 
May angels be thy guide and mine, 
Let me the oak be — thou the vine. 



AN OPPOETUNITY. 



How often we hear it said, that when an 
opportunity presents itself, this, that, or some- 
thing, will or should be said or done concern- 
ing some particular person or thing. Yet, it 
is quite likely that few who use the term 
fully realize what it means. This, perhaps, 
is due to the fact that the word opportunity 
denotes what is largely abstract and invisible 
in its nature, that no particular object cor- 
responding to it appears, or can be made to 
appear to the physical eye. If it were the 
name of some sensible object, as a tree or 
a rose; in short, if it were a concrete term, 
denoting some individual thing with well de- 
fined qualities or properties, the mind would 
more readily grasp its meaning and recog- 
nize its appearance. Still, it may be ob- 
served that though, like many other terms. 



149 



it denotes that which is neither wholly con- 
crete nor abstract in its nature, yet there are 
what may be termed several elements or factors 
which combine to form it, and which render 
it susceptible of being analyzed, examined, 
and defined. 

These elements, or factors, as one may 
choose to call them, are time, place, and 
circumstances, though, strictly speaking, time 
and place are circumstances, since they form 
no part of anything, they being simply at- 
tendants. However, they seem to the mind 
like realities, like distinct elements, accom- 
panying every event or thing, and are so 
regarded, recognized, and valued in the life 
and affairs of men. Hence, we so regard 
and distinguish them. 

Yes, everything that is or happens, seems 
to be at liberty in space, and afloat upon the 
current of time. In fact, the mind cannot 
well conceive of anything as being or happen- 
ing without these two attending elements. 
They are essential and universal conditions, 

150 



attending, as already stated, every oppor- 
tunity. They, of course, are not so in the 
sense of being visible, concrete things, or 
attributes, but so in a sense more subtle, of 
which one is conscious but cannot well de- 
fine. Again, they are divided, and sub-divid- 
ed, and act as two chief regulators in the 
transactions of human affairs. Were it not 
for them chaos would abound, and the mind 
of man would be but little more than a mad- 
house. We need not dwell upon this thought; 
it requires no vivid imagination to picture 
the consequences that would flow from the 
loss of them. Wipe out these two a priori 
elements, and away goes mathematics, language, 
history, and tradition, and man is left a 
wandering idiot in the wilds of chaos. 

But let us look at the above assumed 
qualities of these two elements. We hear 
it said that there is a time and a place for 
everything; that there is a time to sow and 
a time to reap; a time to speak and a time to 
remain silent; a proper time and '^lace to 

151 



do this or that. That this is true, experience 
teaches. Certain times and places are more 
appropriate or favorable than others for the 
success of some undertakings. Hence, time 
and place may be said to be, in respect to 
quality, either good, or bad; better, or best; 
according to the nature or character of an 
occasion or undertaking. 

History supplies many examples of failure 
due to the fact that certain things were not 
undertaken when they should have been; or 
were undertaken at a wrong point of time, too 
soon or too late for success. Striking ex- 
amples of such are to be found in the lives 
of many individuals as well as in those of 
nations. We will not undertake to recite 
them. The student of history and biography 
will easily recall such. They are to be found 
on the battle-field, in the halls of legisla- 
tion, and in the life-time of every individual. 
Shakespeare realized the truth of this when 
he said, "There is a tide in the affairs of 
men which, taken at the flood, leads on to 



153 



fortune." Here, "at the flood," is the time 
element. And as "time and tide wait for 
no man," he who is not ready or fails to 
avail himself of these while they are passing, 
misses an opportunity which may never re- 
turn to him; because an opportunity is brief 
in its existence and has its own time and 
tide. But if time is a positive element of 
an opportunity, ever attending and essential 
to it, so also is place. Both of these are, 
as it were, dictatorial in their nature, and 
mark an opportunity as being favorable or 
unfavorable for the doing or undertaking of 
a thing. Therefore it is that we assign to 
them the qualities above mentioned and use 
such in speaking of these two factors, ac- 
cording to the nature of the circumstances 
of the thing undertaken. In nature, these 
time and place elements are a priori and 
usually unmistakably fixed, and so denote 
themselves. And although they may vary a 
little now and then, yet they are so certain 
that even the scientist relies on them. 

153 



These twin elements, time and space, are 
to be noticed in the movements of the heav- 
enly bodies as they rotate through the cen- 
turies in their appointed orbits with a regu- 
larity that is as admirable as it is astonish- 
ing. Were it otherwise naught but chaos 
would prevail, and there could be no such 
thing as the science of astronomy. 

Again, the seasons, spring, summer, au- 
tumn, and winter, regularly come and go, 
marking not only the time but the place for 
man to sow, and to reap. In fact, everywhere 
in nature, everything manifests itself at cer- 
tain times and places, occurring and recurring 
with a regularity that gives to man a scien- 
tific basis to work upon, thus enabling him 
to predict results with a certainty that is 
sublimely marvelous. Were it not for these 
friendly certainties in nature, there could be 
no moral certainties, since upon the former, 
the latter, in a great degree, are based. 

But we not only find these a priori ele- 
ments in the heavens and on the earth dic- 

154 



tating the time and the place for physical 
occurences, but we find that man is governed 
by them in his business and social affairs, 
recognizing them as distinct elements. Again, 
there is the infant, the adolescent, the adult, 
and more mature periods of his existence, 
each furnishing its own appropriate and cor- 
responding opportunities. 

But the character of the place element 
is often more important in the formation of 
a friendly opportunity, than the attending 
time element. The time for action may be 
propitious, while the place may not. It may 
be spring, the time to sow, if one would reap, 
yet it would be out of place to sow seeds 
upon a rock, upon an ocean wave, or upon 
the sands of a desert. Here then we see that 
the time and the place are not in harmony 
with the nature of things. Hence it is that 
the words when and ivhere are so full of sig- 
nificance and so intimately connected. How 
often we hear it said that this is neither the 
time nor the place to say or do a certain 

155 



thing; or, again, this is the time, but not 
the place. So, an opportunity may present 
itself, but be defective in the one or the 
other of these particulars. 

But it takes more than these elements, 
essential though they be, to form a good 
opportunity. It requires a suitable combina- 
tion of conditions or circumstances. Such a 
set of conditions or circumstances, including 
suitable time and place, make a good oppor- 
tunity. Of these there are many. Life is 
full of them, small and great, scattered here 
and there. Some of these are appropriate 
and adapted to the successful undertaking of 
some one thing; and some, to another. But 
it frequently happens that a set of circum- 
stances, at first sight, appears to be suitable, 
but which, upon close examination, proves de- 
fective in some one of its constituent parts. 
Yes, these combinations, like some other 
things in life, are not always what they seem 
to be. In fact, they are frequently very de- 
ceptive and require the close and intelligent 

156 



inspection of an honest expert, which often 
results in finding the examined set broken or 
defective. Again, while a set or combination 
of conditions or circumstances may contain 
each constituent part, some one or more of 
these parts may be out of. due proportion 
with the other parts, thus making the set, 
as a whole, imperfect and unworthy for the 
purpose in view. Therefore it is that in a 
suitable combination, affording a good oppor- 
tunity, there must not only be the required 
number of parts, but a reasonable proportion 
must exist among the parts. 

So, then, if something is lacking that 
expert experience and reason requires, the 
absence of such impairs the opportunity, so 
far making it defective; and, if used, this 
defect may be the cause of but partial suc- 
cess, if not total failure. 

Again, an opportunity, like an individual, 
lives and dies. Some of these are very fleet- 
ing in their nature, coming and going with 
their own particular brief tide of events. They 



157 



must be seized, if at all, upon the wing, as it 
were, for if allowed to pass without notice, 
they are forever lost. Hence it is that the 
wise man is ever on the alert and ready to 
seize his passing opportunity. 

But, it may be asted, what are the marks 
of a good opportunity? Has it marks by 
which it can be distinguished from other 
things that are passing, as one might distin- 
guish a friend or an acquaintance from strang- 
ers whom he meets here and there? Yes, 
but not with the same ease or degree of 
certainty, as will appear. Now, as stated, 
one set or combination of circumstaDces may 
be favorable to some one particular undertak- 
ing, while another sot may be so to some 
other and different undertaking. 

Therefore, it is very apparent that before 
one can say that this or that set of circum- 
stances or conditions is suited to the attain- 
ment of a desired end or object, the end or 
object in view must first be definitely de- 
termined, and not lie in the mind in general 

158 



desire; just as one must know definitely what 
point of the compass he would reach before 
he can intelligently select from a number of 
routes the proper one running in that direc- 
tion; or, again, as an artist must know the 
object to be painted before he can select for 
his palette suitable colors. The object or 
end, when determined, should and usually 
does, suggest the means or conditions suitable 
for its attainment. These objects, or ends 
in life, are as numerous and various as the 
tastes, views, and abilities, of different in- 
dividuals. Each of them has its one or more 
appropriate opportunities. 

This leads us in passing to remark that 
there are natural and artificial opportunities. 
Nature in her various domains supplies the 
former, while the ingenuity of man makes the 
latter. Lord Bacon says, "a wise man will 
make more opportunities than he finds." And 
true it is. If one has a particular talent that 
he would display, or some object he would 
accomplish, he will generally seek an oppor- 

159 



tunity for it, and not finding it, he will try 
to create or bring about a condition of things 
that will call that talent into exercise, or ob- 
tain that object. He will do so by getting 
others interested in some subject or object 
that demands organization for its growth and 
development, and thereby create an oppor- 
tunity for the use or display of his said 
talent. In this sense, the wise man makes 
more opportunities than he finds. 

The ambitious man is always seeking an 
opportunity for the use, display, and fruition 
of his talents. If he be an orator, he seeks 
the opportunities that will enable him to dis- 
play his genius. If he is warlike in his 
nature, with like abilities, he seeks the hos- 
tile camp or the battle-field. 

But opportunities, or certain situations 
or conditions in the affairs of men, invite 
men ready and equipped to cope with them, 
even as men seek them for the exploitations 
of their desires and ambitions. Then it is 
that the statesman — the patriot — the warrior 

160 



— or the hero — is discovered, or makes him- 
self known. Then it is that new names are 
written on the scroll of honor and fame. 
Then it is that "the die is cast," that a 
Caesar; a Washington; a Napoleon; a Well- 
ington; a Lincoln; a Grant; or a Dewey, be- 
comes famous and historical. Again, circum- 
stances created by others, frequently make 
men; circumstances that are not found in the 
ordinary walks of life nor in the lifetime of 
every individual. When these rare occasions 
do appear, they serve as a tide to bear those 
prepared and able to ride thereon to fame 
or fortune. 

But let it be observed that talents with- 
out opportunities are worthless; both are 
essential to the aspiring mind. Ambition 
and a will to do or die, can achieve noth- 
ing without them. And these must not only 
exist, but both must meet and work together, 
otherwise they might as well not be. But 
where they exist, and jointly work with a 

spirit of determination, mighty deeds may be 

ici 



expected as a result. Then tyranny and op- 
pression may be dethroned, and in their place 
justice and liberty appear; then the earth, 
ever friendly, smiles in abundance, and the 
sweet voice of freedom fills the air with 
music and gladness. 

But opportunities do not always seek men, 
they are sought by the ambitious. This is es- 
pecially true of those opportunities that nature 
offers in her every domain. The natural re- 
sources of a country, with a beautiful climate, 
may possess opportunities for the acquisition 
of wealth; here and there within its boundaries 
may be established for the acquisition and dis- 
tribution of knowledge the best of institutions, 
where truth, civil, moral, and religious, is taught; 
and yet, each and every one of these will be to 
those who neglect to seek or use them, as though 
they did not exist, as lost or unimproved oppor- 
tunities. So, then, to be of practical value 
to one, either natural or made opportunities 
must be sought or seized by him who would 
enjoy their benefits. 



162 



Again, opportunities, other than those 
that the natural resources of a country offer, 
are chiefly the products of liberty; such as 
freedom of speech — freedom of press — freedom 
of conscience — each and all of these develope 
the man and permit him to make the most 
of th© best within him. Hence it is, that a 
country where these God-given rights exist, 
where they are recognized and exercised — and 
where nature is bountiful, such a country 
offers the largest and the best number of 
opportunities for the growth, development, 
and happiness of man. True, some of these 
may not be used; or, again, they may be 
used — but abused. But such neglect or abuse 
cannot impair their virtue; they will firmly 
and serenely stand to accuse and shame those 
who spurn or fail to use them, as well as 
those who use but abuse them. 

Yes, these opportunities are found where- 
ever the spirit of man is free to exercise 
itself within the limits of justice cultivated 
and approved by reason. There he is to 

163 



be found in his best estate. But where 
Liberty is shakled, there ever lurks the spirit 
of revolt and revenge, ready and waiting its 
opportunity to use the dagger or the torch. 
Well, is there such a country where ideal 
opportunities abound? Yes, America! She 
is certainly a sweet land of liberty! "the 
home of the brave and the free!" A oountry 
where head — heart — and conscience is free! 
A country that tolerates neither king — oaste 
— priest-craft — nor imperial craft! A country 
with a government of the people — by the 
people — for the people — and whose motto 
is — Liberty and Excelsior! 



"Master of human destinies am I. 
Fame — love — and fortune on my footsteps wait, 
Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate 
Deserts and seas remote, and, passing by 
Hovel, and mart, and palace, soon or late 
I knook unbidden once at every gate! 
If sleeping, wake — if feasting, rise before 
I turn away. It is the hour of fate." 

— John J. Ingalls 



164 



A WRECK. 

So slouchy, so shabby, and slothful he 

came, 
He looked like a storm beaten wreck off 

the main; 
A friend, once so proud, now so broken, so 

tame, 
Just a speck of the past, an object of 

shame. 



Yes, well I remember the time of his youth, 
His pride and ambition, his research for 

truth; 
How oft he "Excelsior" wrote for his name, 
And sounded the key note of honor and 

fame. 



His eye then was true, and his voice then 

was sweet, 
Then walked he erect, and looked well on 

the street, 
The best then did think him an honor to 

meet. 
And sought his resort as a classic retreat, 



Now, bent is his form and halting his gait, 
His spirit is broken, his motto is — "Wait!" 
His future, once bright, stubborn folly did 

blight, 
A wreck is he now, one sad, sorry sight. 



Alas ! there is many a wreck on the shore, 
That would with sin sail, and life's evils 

explore, 
Alas ! there is many a heart that is sore, 
Lamenting, "what might have been," now, 

as of yore. 



ANTICIPATION. 



It is a familiar saying that anticipation 
yields more pleasure than participation; that 
what the head and the heart desire and ex- 
pect affords greater pleasure than that derived 
from its actual possession; that in waiting 
for what one desires, or being in pursuit of 
it, the anticipated pleasure thus experienced, 
is far in excess of that which comes from the 
sense of being in possession. That this is 
true in many cases, one's own experience and 
observation attest. Yet, it is not true in all 
cases, for it often happens that the pleasure 
actually derived from a thing in possession, 
far exceeds that which comes from anticipa- 
tion, or the pursuit of it. The reason of this 
may be found either in the nature or charac- 
ter of that which is desired and sought, or in 
the character of those who pursue and antici- 
pate, or possibly in both. 

167 



Some things are as fickle and fleeting as 
the butterfly days of youth, while others are 
of a more substantial and permanent char- 
acter. 

In youth, the heart's chief occupation is 
to dream and anticipate. Then it is that 
bright pictures in the distant light not only 
captivate, but excite desire and hot pursuit. 
Then it is that the will-o- the- wisps of life 
successfully invite; that the fields of Utopia 
are alive with bewitching, alluring and delu- 
sive fantasies. Then it is, that the heart and 
the mind are most intense in desire, the hap- 
piest in anticipation, and the most restless, 
zealous, and fickle. In this season of one's 
life, all is novelty. Then, curiosity is ever 
on the alert and seldom satisfied. Then, the 
spirit of adventure and change is ever ram- 
pant. Then, things are pursued and won to 
be later rudely tossed aside or abandoned 
when something new and seemingly better 
presents itself. Yes, such are surely butter- 
fly days. Again, it is the season of plan- 

168 



ning and sowing to the happy song of prom- 
ise and the buoyant thought of sweet fruition. 
Then it is, in early manhood or womanhood, 
when the heart is young and gay, that air 
castles are built, that the happiness which 
comes from the possession of things is apt 
to be over estimated by feverish anticipation. 
It is well, perhaps, that it is so. But later 
in life, when disappointment has tempered 
the love of novelty and the spirit of advent- 
ure; when one has learned in loss or in 
tears that all is not gold that glitters; that 
"there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and 
the lip," and that to have and retain that 
which gives moderate and sane pleasure with 
a reasonable assurance that it will be per- 
manent is the better; then it is that the 
heart is not so easily captivated, or led astray. 
Then it is that one is not so prone to part 
with or abandon the tried and the true, — 
and rush in hot pursuit after the strange 
and fascinating in anticipation of deriving 
from such pleasures fresh and more satisfy- 



169 



ing than those enjoyed in things already 
possessed. Hence, the saying, that one should 
live two lives in order to know how to live 
one well. If this could be, many, no doubt, 
would be able to write success and happiness 
where now they write but failure and misery. 

However, in one sense, the entire life of 
every individual is one of anticipation. Yes, 
every life has its springtime, its summer, its 
autumn, and its winter, through each of 
which is heard, in a degree more or less in- 
tense, the rippling notes of glad anticipa- 
tion. So, while it may be true that one 
must look into the youthful heart to see this 
maid of fancy in her most fascinating colors, 
one can, nevertheless, find her in the heart 
at all stages of life, more or less attractive- 
ly, though less poetically attired. Yet,, it 
will be observed that a very large proportion 
of individual as well as social life, is found 
roaming within the gay and fascinating fields 
of anticipation. 

But amidst pleasures anticipated, there 

170 



runs an unseen path wherein often walks 
the ghastly and sickly figure of disappoint- 
ment. Sad, indeed, the time when this spirit 
meets the gay and deceptive siren of the 
heart. Especially is this true in the winter 
of life, when the life line of hope is feeble 
or broken and naught is heard within the 
corridors of the heart save the voice of 
despair, and the spirit of adventure sinks 
forever into a consciousness of being a vic- 
tim of fantastic anticipation. 

But there are anticipations that carry 
with them sweet and trustworthy assurances 
of joys to be realized; that give elasticity 
to the step, color to the cheek, and fill the 
heart with music; that assure one that in 
due time success and true enjoyment shall 
surely emerge from an honest chase or a 
patient wait. Underlying this kind of an- 
ticipation, is the fixed law that as one sows 
so shall he reap. Like produces like. This 
is as true in matters of the heart and the head 
and in all human affairs, as it is in the 

171 



provinces of the animal or the botanical 
world. There may be a few exceptions, but 
the rule holds good. Kindness, friendship, 
love, faithfulness to duty, veracity, justice, 
and benevolence, in short and in fact, all of 
the virtues when put into practice l)ring like 
returns. None can ignore or violate the laws 
of any one of these and reasonably anticipate 
pleasures worth enjoying or abiding. And 
this is as true in matters of national life as 
it is in those of an individual. The laws 
of nature and those of the human heart are 
in this respect very similar. True, they may 
be ignored by individuals, society, and nations, 
but a penalty more or less severe usually 
follows. As the years go by they furnish 
unmistakable evidence of the truth of what 
is here asserted. In the history of nations 
it appears as well as in the lives of the 
great departed. Imperial Rome avariciously 
and licentiously anticipated, and, in her wild 
and unjust pursuits for greater glory, lost 
what glory she possessed and enjoyed. Na- 

172 



poleou, in his selfish desire and anticipation 
of extended power and additional glory, sought 
the same with cruel fervor and at the wan- 
ton sacrifice of the lives and rights of others, 
to meet, finally, defeat and disappointment 
and the ignominious death of a prisoner in 
exile. 

History, both ancient and modern, is re- 
plete with instances of wanton effort inspired 
by selfish anticipation. In them we see a 
cruel and willful disregard of the rights and 
happiness of others, a violation of the plain 
virtues, that are always recognized and ap- 
proved by the head and the heart in their 
best estate. It requires but a little reflection 
upon the part of the experienced and thought- 
ful of mature years, to realize that there are 
worthy and unworthy anticipations; that the 
former, from an inevitable law of nature, yields 
only pleasures true and abiding, while the 
latter, at the best, afford pleasures that are 
but fleeting, or that carry with them a sting 
of regret. 

173 



Anticipation, then, sweet siren of the 
heart, so wild in youth, and in old age not 
without her seductive influence, needs not 
only watching, but the counsel of experience 
and sober reason to check her faults and 
foibles; that those who listen to her gay and 
beguiling songs may not be led into the 
shades of disappointment and regret. This 
siren sings her captivating songs in every 
heart. Life indeed were gloomy without her. 
She paints the future in most fascinating 
colors, while hope, her companion, ever sing- 
ing in the human breast, smiles and ap- 
plauds. They seem to be twin sisters, although 
anticipation is the gayer of the two and 
inclined to be reckless and treacherous. 



174 



FOND MEMORY. 



Within thy sacred precincts, 
Where silence hath a throne, 

Secure from all intrusion, 
I wander oft alone. 



And there my soul, enchanted, 
Within thy holy bowers, 

May read thy scroll of beauty 
And gather rarest flowers. 



Thy scroll of joys immortal. 
Thy flowers that never die — 

Those that the heart most cherished, 
Bring they a laugh or sigh. 



Within thy sacred gardens, 
The dew-drop is the tear; 

The notes I hear are other days 
Sweet echoes, doubly dear. 



There oft I roam at twilight — 
The precious hour of day; 

And muse and hold communion 
With loved ones passed away. 



A mother's voice comes to me, 

I press a loving hand; 
I feel a kiss upon my brow. 

As touch of magic wand. 

O memory! fond memory — 
The laughter and the tears 

That live for e'er within thy haunts 
Are but the vanished years. 



GOLDEN PILLARS OF LIFE'S 
TEMPLE. 



The building of temples has been a passion 
of every age and of every people. The ancient 
world points to these as among the monuments of 
her past greatness, splendor, and triumphant lore. 

They are the living, speaking voices of the 
great-dead past. They testify to the ruling 
passions of the ancient head, heart and soul, 
Each dominant passion had its god, or god- 
dess; and each of these had his or her temple 
wherein there was the feast or worship. The 
votaries of vice in all its hideous forms lav- 
ished their skill and treasures on temples to 
Bacchus, the god of wine and revelry, while 
the lovers of virtue and wisdom erected tem- 
ples to Vesta and Minerva. Thus, to vice or 
virtue — ignorance or wisdom, were erected 
temples. Many of these temples have been 
destroyed by the bloody hand of war and 

177 



the wasting elements; but the passions of 
men remain and rule as of yore. 

The heirs of Christian civilization are 
adorning and glorifying the landscape every- 
where with temples of learning, justice, and 
worship. The mighty spirit of the great 
dead past is here refined and emphasized in 
the more Christianized and civilized present, 
with a faith that builds beyond the stars 
and a hope that bears the soul to Heaven. 

These great works of art, fashioned by 
the genius and skill of man, have their dis- 
tinctive features, and vie with one another 
in their marked importance and architectural 
beauty. In the construction of them there 
are certain well defined laws that demand 
severe obedience, any violation of which con- 
demns or renders defective the entire structure. 
The laws of unity, variety, symmetry and 
proportion must be obeyed or defect follows, 
nature herself is offended and hastens to 
condemn. To the architect who plans such no- 
ble structures, certain questions present them- 

178 



selves, such as the purpose to which the 
temple is to be dedicated, the height, the 
breadth, and the depth of its super-structure; 
the character and the weight of the material 
that is to be employed. Until these questions 
have been fully and well determined, nothing 
can be properly done. 

Experience has taught that the founda- 
tion is of paramount importance, since the 
stability and permanency of the super-struct- 
ure depend upon it. Hence the utmost care 
is urged that the foundation be laid to cor- 
respond with the purpose and weight of the 
super-structure. Many a fine temple has fallen 
during the process of its erection, or proved 
disappointing afterwards, from the want of 
sufficient care and skill at the inception or 
during its construction. 

It might be entertaining and instructive 
were we to consider in detail the different 
architectural features of these material, soul- 
less temples, and in so doing call upon Egypt, 
Athens, Home, and other ancient cities for 

179 



inspiration and illustrations. But it is suflS.- 
cient for our purpose to notice simply the 
pillars of such. 

That which imparts beauty, grandeur, 
and character to a temple are its pillars, while 
at the same time they serve as a support, 
and guarantee security against the violent 
assaults of the reckless and cruel elements. 
In the ancient temples, these pillars were 
numerous and costly, and imparted an air 
of stateliness and authority to their structures. 

But these attractive and imposing monu- 
ments are as dreams of fancy when compared 
to the real temple of life, which we denom- 
inate character; that which cannot perish 
with fleeting time, and whose golden pillars 
are the physical, the moral, the intellectual, 
and the spiritual parts of our being. Now, 
every individual is here upon earth to build 
a temple, which, when completed, shall be to 
himself or herself a source of genuine pride 
and pleasure — to society an ornament, and 
unto God eternal glory. Various indeed are 

180 



its component parts, but when finished, its 
sum total is character. In its perfected 
state, it may be likened to the beautiful sun 
that swings in the blue vault of heaven like 
an angel's lamp, lighting and warming and 
gladdening the earth. Many are they who 
attempt to build this temple, but few, in fact, 
succeed. The vast majority worship at the 
feet of the gods of appetite and passion; 
build temples to Bacchus; court dissipation; 
jeer at virtue and scofp at rectitude. 

As the material temple has its founda- 
tion, so, also, has Life's Temple. It has its 
beginning in your arms, fond mother; in 
your tender and holy caresses; in your sweet 
and loving lullabies; in your smiles of ap- 
proval; in your counsel and in your dispas- 
sionate chidings. You may be to it what 
the morning sun and dew drop are to the 
budding flower; or, you may be to it as an 
early frost or a blighting wind. Yes, your 
every word, look, and act, contribute to the 
foundation of this beautiful, priceless temple, 

181 



Character, The songs you sing, live therein 
forever; the look you give, shall never dis- 
appear; your every tear and your every foot- 
fall shall be felt and be heard — echoed and 
re-echoed in every chamber of the sublime 
structure through all its temporal and celes- 
tial existence. 

Again, much of its foundation is mould- 
ed in the school-room and in the house of 
worship. And here we are to remember that 
as the teacher is, so afterwards the pupil; 
the one, a Socrates, then the other, a Plato; 
the one, with a faith that looks with love 
for life beyond the clouds; then the other, 
buoyant with hope and the anticipations of 
another clime: Thus, the foundation is laid. 

The physical part of one's being may be 
considered as one of the pillars of Life's 
Temple. A sound or healthy body well pre- 
served is essential to character building; 
therefore, too much care cannot be taken 
that the laws of health be strictly obeyed; that 
the diet furnished be sufficient and whole- 

182 



some; the water, pure and electrifying. These 
with pure air and sunlight, proper exercise 
and amusement, with regular and timely hours 
of retirement, engender good blood in healthy 
circulation, which in return produces an active 
brain and a vigorous body. The laws of com- 
pensation and reciprocity stand forth promi- 
nently in all the works of nature. The flow- 
ers, for sunshine and showers, compensate 
with fragrance and beauty, while the rain-bow 
of promise steps forth upon the balcony of the 
heavens. Whoever would cultivate and preserve 
these conditions of the brain and the body, 
must not and cannot dissipate the night or 
any part of it in vulgar dance-halls, grog-shops, 
gambling-dens and other cesspools of crime 
and iniquity. The laws of God are immut- 
able; and the laws of health, are the laws of 
God. "As ye sow, so shall ye reap," is a 
fixed law, enacted by God. No man can 
repeal it, nor operate in opposition to it and 
reap otherwise. Hence it follows, that he who 
waits on Bachus and pays tribute to the house- 

183 



hold of vice, shall loose his physical beauty, 
the pride of his manhood, one of the golden 
pillars of Life's Temple. 

One who aspires to nobility of charaot^r, 
who would make the most of the best that is 
within him, whose motto is — Excelsior — stands 
aloof from such places; from their blighting 
and destructive influences; finds pleasure and 
strength in the elevating and invigorating 
atmosphere of the church, wherein is worshiped 
the true and living God. Places of learning, 
also, have an attraction for him. His sports 
are innocent and his walks are chaste. When 
night comes, we find him in the circle of 
home — sweet home — basking in the sunshine 
of innocent childhood and devoted wifehood. 
Lafayette, thou speakest well: Yes, where 
can a man better be than in the bosom of 
his family? There, is found the cradle and 
the spinning-wheel, youth and old age; there, 
hopes and fears, joys and sorrows, blend to- 
gether. There we cherish, and there we 
build. There we live, and there w© die — a 

184 



happy unit. Yes, no matter how humble, 
there is no place like home. Mother is there, 
that's enough. Aye, true it is, "The hand 
that rocks the cradle rules the world." A 
mother's love and a mother's blessing, her 
constant solicitude and devotion, her prayers 
and holy efforts, make sacred the home circle; 
gives to a nation a Washington, a Lincoln, or 
a Grant. Home is honored, a nation made, 
and a nation saved. No man can build well 
without mother; and mother without God is 
helpless. 

The second golden pillar of Life's Temple 
is that of morality, the heart. Feeling gen- 
erates thought and action, and action is every- 
thing. How important then that the heart 
should be right. There is some of Heaven 
and some of Hell in every man and woman; 
such is our heritage. Let us be grateful for 
the fall. Were it not so, where were the vic- 
tory? The human heart is a reservoir of two 
great forces. From the one side flows the 
pure, sweet streams of sympathy, pity, charity, 

185 



forgiveness, friendship and love; while from 
the other side flows the inky, poisonous 
streams of envy, jealousy, hatred, revenge 
and murder. What a variety! What a mix- 
ture! What a study, is man! What a mys- 
tery to himself, and yet, what a sublime whole ! 
The great master-piece of the Almighty! The 
object of the Cross, and the only heir to Lif^ 
Eternal! 

But these various and seemingly oppos- 
ing elements of the heart, can be harmonized 
and regulated in their movements and opera- 
tions, to the end that happiness and glory 
shall follow, even as the planets are directed 
and regulated in their movements by the 
divine mind. 

Another golden pillar of Life's Temple 
is the intellect. There is nothing in the 
world but mind and matter in some form or 
other. Everything that is, may be classified 
under the one or the other of these terms. 
The one, superior; the other, inferior. The 
one, master; the other, slave. The one, per- 

186 



ishable; the other, imperishable; while back 
of all — before all — beneath all — abore all — 
about all — permeating all — superior to all — 
directing and controlling all — and eternal to 
all — is God, the Creator of all. Superior to 
all but Grod, is mind. The intellect is king 
in this world, and its companion, the heart, 
is queen. The intellectual kingdom is supe- 
rior to all other kingdoms — and the moral, 
the heart kingdom, is only second to it. Yet 
there are those who seem, from their mode 
of living, to regard appetite as king, and 
passion as queen. How many neglect the 
best part of their nature; spurn all efforts 
at intellectual and esthetical improvement, 
and waste their time in caring simply for 
the body, or in riotous living. True, the 
curse of God has made it necessary for man 
to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow; 
and labor thus performed is worthy of honor. 
It is not necessary, however, that he should 
spend all of his life in providing for the 
body. Oaring solely for the physical part of 

187 



our nature is the lowest occupation that can 
engage man's attention. Were life's mission 
only to feed, water, blanket, and shelter this 
mortal mass of clay, life, then, were not worth 
the living, and we might well sing, "I would 
not live always." True, the body should be 
well taken care of — because it is the outer 
temple, the home of the head, the heart, 
and the soul. But it should remain servant, 
and should not be allowed to dictate, or 
dethrone its king and queen, the head and 
heart. We think too much of food, shelter 
and raiment. We are too fond of the soci- 
ety of Epicurus and Bacchus. The motto: 
"Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we 
die," is false and unbecoming to the spirit 
, of lofty aspirations. Few of the millions 
that live ever reach the plane of true life. 
The hourly and daily concern of most of us 
is the palate and the looking-glass; something 
good to eat and something nice to wear, 
seasoned and ornamented with gossip or 
slander. The intellectual part of life is 

188 



neglected or ignored. The study of nature, 
so elevating, refining and quieting in its in- 
fluences, is set aside as if it were a matter 
of no special importance to any except those 
who desire to use the knowledge thereof in 
the arts and for the purposes of barter and 
trade. What a base conception of life. The 
true, the beautiful and the wonderful in 
nature is seen, heard and felt, but not un- 
derstood. 

The untutored mind sees the beauties and 
wonders of the heavens; beholds the sun — 
the moon — the stars, and the lightning on its 
mad career through storm laden clouds, but 
naught else than fear and wonder attend the 
sight. But not so with the cultivated mind. 
The sun to it is the center of the solar sys- 
tem — a vast and wonderful body of light and 
heat, rotating, but stationary, and at a distance 
of ninety-one millions of miles from earth. A 
knowledge of its size, distance, substances and 
life-awakening and life sustaining qualities, 
fills the heart and mind of its beholder with 

189 



grand emotions and lofty thoughts. Fear 
and wonder is lost in quiet adoration and sub- 
lime contemplation of the Supreme Being. 
To ■ such an one, things are not always what 
they seem to be, but what they really are. The 
nearest fixed stars to the informed mind are 
not a few miles away in the heavens, but are 
nineteen trillions of miles distant. The moon 
is not distributing its own light, but is re- 
flecting the light of its superior, the sun. 
Thus the difference between the ignorant and 
the informed mind. The vision of one is 
short, superficial, misleading and full of error; 
the vision of the other, is far-reaching, pene- 
trating, deep and comprehensive. The igno- 
rant vision beholds and trembles; the enlight- 
ened vision beholds with admiration, adoration 
and worship. 

The five senses of the uncultivated man 
afford him but little pleasure that the brute 
does not enjoy. He eats without any knowl- 
edge of the nature or properties of the food 
before him, as does the brute. The air he 

190 



breathes is simply air, and nothing more; so 
with the brute. That it contains oxygen, 
his life, is of no interest to him. He wants 
air, wants to breathe, that is all; so with 
the brute. To him all things of beauty, 
grandeur, and sublimity, are of no consequence 
aside from their gastronomic or sumptuary 
value. The life of such an one is gross and 
superficial. He lives and dies on the surface 
of things. He sees but little and aspires to 
nothing. He builds no temple, for he is 
short of material. He is short-sighted, short- 
eared, and short in spirit; yes, short in 
everything, except appetite and passion. He 
is a failure of his own volition. He is here 
filling space, and that is all. A man or wo- 
man who, in this, the twentieth century, sur- 
rounded with unlimited means of knowledge, 
shuffles along through life to the grave in 
ignorance, deserves to be censured and ridi- 
culed. Light is all about us. We may, if 
we choose, look into the face of nature and 
understand her secrets, for science has un- 



191 



covered them. We live in an age of cer- 
tainties. Most of the wonders of nature 
lie exposed on the shelves of our libraries. 
We may know if we will. There is a feast 
for the hungry mind as well as for the body. 

Let him who would accomplish the mission 
of life, who would make the most of the best 
within him, not fail to recognize the fact that 
knowledge is power as well as pleasure; that 
it is impossible to build anything of lasting 
worth without it; that it is one of the prime 
factors in real character; that without it the 
real beauties and wonders of creation are to 
him as a sealed book, as pearls to the swine; 
that life without it is slavery, a life of 
death. 

Again, let the man and the woman of 
advanced years remember that it is never 
too late to improve; that history is their's 
in which to read of the past conditions, 
struggles, aspirations and achievements of the 
human race; that in books of astronomy they 
may read of the heavens; that in natural 

192 



philosophy they may learn of the laws by 
which nature operates. 

Yes, every department of organic and 
inorganic nature has been largely explored 
and explained, and if one will, he may read, 
know and enjoy, as he builds up the third 
pillar of Life's Temple. 

The spiritual part of man is the fourth 
pillar of Life's Temple. Every finished and 
truly sublime character recognizes the exist- 
ence of a Supreme Being. The physical, the 
moral, and the intellectual parts of our be- 
ing, may be cultivated and developed well 
nigh to the line of perfection; but if the 
spiritual part is neglected, or remains unculti- 
vated and undeveloped, the Temple will be 
weak, temporal and material, and deficient in 
that which gives to it the finishing touch, 
that of life eternal. No spiritual pillar, — then 
no grand character. 

A soul without faith in it is empty, 
cheerless, and running to waste. A belief 
in the existence of a God fills it with a life 

193 



and light, a hope and faith, that ends not 
at the grave. One who believes not in a 
God and eternal life, lives in a temple with- 
out windows — one without light. He lives, 
moves and has his being in a state of dis- 
traction, in a prison without hope of redemp- 
tion. To him all is temporal and selfish. 
His doctrine is, every man for himself, the 
grave for all, and nothing more. His life 
is cold, selfish and remorseless. He would rob 
June of her roses and Autumn of her mead- 
ow larks. How like a haunted house is the 
society of an atheist! How cold, clammy 
and repulsive his touch! His insanity is of 
the worst type. We cannot reason with 
him. We just pity him and let him alone. 
His life, without God in it, is like a des- 
ert without an oasis, or a dungeon within 
whose cold and slimy walls naught is heard 
save the sullen and gurgling waters of des- 
pair mingling with the moans and groans 
of abandoned and frenzied spirits. 

But how different, how delightful, con- 

194 



genial and elevating is the man who recognizes 
God in everything. What a halo of divine 
light is about him. His temple is filled 
with spiritual light. He builds on faith and 
hope divine, ever taking counsel of the Su- 
preme Architect. His temple is not for time 
only, but for eternity. When it is finished, 
we behold upon its majestic dome, in golden 
letters, the words: Character and Happiness, 
— the object and sum total of life. Inscribed 
upon its pillars are the words, patience 
— industry — perseverance — growth — develop- 
ment — denial — self-sacrifice — virtue — knowl- 
edge—justice — worship. When finished, it 
represents the victory of years. He loves 
his temple and delights to study the prec- 
ious gems that decorate its pillars. With- 
in its human arches and through its divine 
recesses are heard the soft^ liquid notes of 
friendship, love, charity, forgiveness and just- 
ice. It is never night there, it is ever day. 
To the soul that lives within such a temple, 
there is no death — there is no grave — just a 

195 



change; a long, pleasant visit, anticipated with 
loved ones in a foreign land. Thus, Life's 
Temple is built. 

But as there are false gods, so there are 
false temples. Nor is it always easy to de- 
tect the false from the true. Both have 
gilded domes and to all outward appearances 
are one and the same. We often find the 
stamp of the genuine upon the dome of the 
spurious. The word character is written in- 
stead of the word reputation. And what is 
character? A man's character is what he 
really, is, while a man's reputation is what 
others say he is and what he seems to be. 
Sometimes his character is better than his 
reputation. Then again, his reputation is 
sometimes better than his character. So, true 
it is, that "all that glitters is not gold." 
Appearances are, indeed, often deceiving. The 
sun appears to be not larger than a good- 
size pumpkin, whereas, in fact, it is one 
million two hundred and ninety times as large 
as the earth. The nearest fixed stars are 

196 



nineteen trillions of miles away, although they 
seem to be only a few hours ride away into the 
heavens. Again, the smallest stars visible to 
the naked eye are five hundred and seventy 
trillions of miles above the clouds; so far 
away that their light, traveling as all light 
travels— 183,000 miles a second — has been 
thousands of years reaching us. How de- 
ceptive, how great the difference between the 
apparent and the real. Life is real; we are 
here on earth a reality, with stern, inflexible 
realities all about us, and he who would 
build well and for eternity, must build his 
temple out of realities. It will be a temple 
of real acts and of like memories. And 
the builder thereof must live, eat, drink, 
work, walk, sleep, and exist in it — forever. 
When it is once built he cannot get out 
of it, for it is himself, his character. We 
cannot get away from ourselves. Our past 
life is always the larger part of our present. 
Today, making ready for tomorrow, is all of 
yesterday. Our memories are always with 

197 



us whether they be sweet or bitter. They 
are ever present to censure or praise. Thus 
if is that justice and virtue have their re- 
ward. How full of springtime and gratifi- 
cation must have been the memories of Wash- 
ington, Lafayette, Lincoln, Grrant, and Gar- 
field. How gloomy and full of remorse that 
of Lord Woolsey. Hear him in his old age 
and in the anguish of his soul cry out, "Had 
I but served my God as well as I have served 
my king, He now, in my old age, would not 
have forsaken me." What a bitter memory, 
reminiscences of empty honors and ephemeral 
glory. Lord Woolsey, once a prince — a lord 
— almost a king, with unlimited wealth and 
surrounded by dazzling splendor, courted by 
princes and potentates; equipped with power 
to create or crush, now a beggar full of re- 
morse and cringing at the feet of a despot. 
How upon his ear ring the words, "Fling 
away ambition — 'twas by that the angel fell." 
Aye, thrice true it is that any ambition de- 
void of God, humanity and justice, had bet- 

198 



ter be thrown away, for, sooner or later, it 
will fill the soul with remorse and crush the 
temple. 

Finally, recognizing these four great, 
grand forces of our being — the physical, the 
moral, the intellectual, and the spiritual, and 
adjusting them to the laws of nature while 
developing them in harmony therewith and 
Grod's will, one can build the grand temple 
of life. Upon its walls there will be hung 
the precious and unquestionable sentiments: 
Do unto others as ye would that they should 
do unto you. "This, to thine own self be 
true; and it must follow as the night the day, 
thou can'st not then be false to any man." 
"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, 
the evidence of things unseen." "Lord, I 
believe, help thou mine unbelief." "Just as 
I am without one plea, but that Thy blood 
was shed for me." Within this temple, we 
find the solution to life's problem; namely, 
be true to self, to others, and to God. Such 
is all of Life — subjectively and objectively. 

199 



It is the centre and the circumference of life. 
And surely life is worth living. 

This is a beautiful world, the glorious herit- 
age of prince and peasant. He is a millionaire 
who lives and builds to enjoy it. God has made 
the whole earth vocal with sweet sounds. The 
untraveled forests echo the notes of the wild bird 
and the habitations of men are made glad by the 
sweet songs of domesticated feathered minstrels. 
From groves, gardens, and deep tangled wild 
woods, come to us zephyrs laden with the aroma 
of the native wild flower and the fragrance of 
the cherished exotic. The bird of beauty with 
its radiant, fascinating plumage, passes in 
proud review before us, captivating and exciting 
our admiration. The bold eagle soars away 
above the defiant crags and lofty peaks of its 
majestic mountain home, inspiring our souls in 
its flight with the spirit of Excelsior. Again, 
'tis night, and the roar of the cataract and the 
chanting of distant waters fall upon the ear 
awakening meditation and calling us to Grod 
and vespers. 

200 



Yes, monotony nowhere, variety every- 
where; beauty, grandeur, sublimity, divinity 
all about us, illuminated by the lights of the 
twentieth century. The beauties, wonders, 
and glories of this world are a ceaseless round 
of pleasure to those who are engaged in build- 
ing Life's Temple. To such, life is ever rosy, 
and never a cloud appears without its silver 
lining. The notes of the last grand anthem 
heard on earth within the temple walls of 
Character is, "Thy Will be done: Praise God 
from whom all blessings flow." Then let it 
be recorded and burnt into the memory, that 
he builds best who builds not only for time, 
but also for eternity. 



Virtue alone outbuilds the pyramids; 

Her monuments shall last when Egypt's fall. 

— Young » 



201 



VERMONT. 



A song to thee — my native State, 
Thy shepherd hills, thy mountains great, 
Thy rivers, glens, and silver lakes, 
Where Freedom's voice the Eagle wakes. 

Grod's works I've seen across the sea. 
Free Switzerland! Fair Italy! 
Where Nature oft held captive me. 
But naught inspired my soul like thee. 

Proud State! thy star in the field of blue, 
We hail and admire, so constant and true; 
Thy sons are heroes, well known to fame. 
The pride of his country — brave Dewey — 
we name. 

Yet more of glory, fond State, is thy share, 
Thy daughters excel! How lovely! How 

fair! 
With voices as sweet as their virtues are 

rare, 
They life give and zest to the Green 

Mountain air. 



TO TALIEN. 



The stars begem the azure blue, 
And watch the night the flowers bedew; 
Their genial light o'er tired earth strew, 
There silent sitting — constant — true, 

The flowers blossom, bud and bloom. 
In charming colors — form — perfume; 
The angels shape them, we assume, 
The blushing rose for bride and groom. 

The robin, happy bird, doth sing 
Its liquid, joyous notes in spring; 
Now meadow lark sings on the wing. 
Hark! hear the ambient welkin ring. 

The heart is touched by harp and song. 
And would cathedral chimes prolong; 
They gently chide a thought of wrong, 
And bid the soul be brave and strong. 

Love makes us feel the charm of life, 
Its tender throbs, its noble strife; 
The heart is full where it is rife, 
No evil there for pruning knife. 



PLAY SAINT, OR SINNER. 



Make no choice — play saint or sinner, 
Either part is best if winner; 
Blush no shame! — Time doth attest 
That saints and sinners both are blest. 

Kight or wrong— care not — if winner, 
He who fails is counted sinner; 
Never mind the course you take, 
Run, — run wild! — but reach the stake! 

If the while some dare you censure — 
For your heartless, vile adventure. 
Run undaunted, — praise awaits you — 
Wealth and fashion will embrace you. 

Lo! you'll share the pomp and splendor, 
That both saints and sinners render, 
Fawning at your feet and grinning, 
Fair ones will false praise be spinning. 

Be ye great! — yes, — be a hero! 
Such an one as he was, — Nero! 
But so sure as God's Eternal, 
Ye shall bide with the Infernal! 



THE IDEAL. 



What is that which we call the ideal? 
What does it look like? Where is it to be 
found or seen? Is it a myth, or is it a real 
thing? Is it a physical something occupying 
space, like a solid, a liquid, a fluid, or a gas? 
or is it a metaphysical something, just an 
idea born of the imagination, and having no 
existence except in the mind? Well, yes, it 
is rather the latter; it is metaphysical in its 
nature, a product of the mind. But it is 
not a myth nor a mystery. It can be real- 
ized by the senses, or defined and made clear 
to the understanding. 

One speaks of an ideal place, — sunset, — 
day; an ideal piece of architecture or paint- 
ing; an ideal form, — character, — father, — moth- 
er, — son, — daughter; an ideal condition, — situ- 
ation, — or state of things, etc. 

205 



Yes, the term ideal can apply to many 
things that are abstract, physical or concrete 
in their nature, as well as to things purely 
imaginative or mythical; it can apply to per- 
sons or things realized by some one of the 
senses as well as to persons and things and 
places existing only in the clouds of the 
imagination. But what is it? Tell us about 
it. Well, according to Fleming, "The ideal 
is that which is attained by selecting and 
assembling in one whole the beauties and 
perfections which are usually seen in different 
individuals, (or things), excluding everything 
defective or unseemly, so as to form a type 
or model of the species. Thus, the Apollo 
Belvidere is the ideal of the beauty and 
proportion of the human frame." The ideal, 
then, is an imaginary standard of excellence; 
a mental conception portrayed in words or 
set up in works of art, as a model of what 
some mind or minds consider perfection. Let 
us consider for a moment the meaning of 
some of the terms used in the above defini- 



206 



tion. A thing is considered perfect when 
it is finished and faultless in all its parts, 
and, as a whole, a thing of perfection. But 
it can be all this, and yet not be ideal. How 
so? Because, in addition to being finished 
and faultless in and of itself, it must, in 
order to be an ideal, have another qualifica- 
tion, without which it should not be called 
ideal; namely, it must excel, surpass all others 
of its kind; in other words, it must have 
the exceptional or peculiar property of ex- 
cellence. Nay, it must not only be finished, 
faultless, and excel, but it must be so per- 
fect in its character that no mind pre-emi- 
nently great can conceive of how a thing of 
its kind can be made more nearly perfect. 

But, it will be said, one mind may con- 
ceive what it regards worthy of being a 
standard of excellence in some special thing 
while another mind may entertain and set 
forth a different one. Now, when this is the 
case, who shall decide or decree which of 
these two so-called ideals is the true one, or 

207 



the more nearly perfect? Well, that must 
depend npon the nature or character of that 
which is presented as an ideal. The ideal, 
in a lofty sense of the term, is usually the 
product of a lofty, superior mind, schooled 
and pre-eminent in some thought, science, or 
art. It was evidently such a great mind 
that conceived (about the third century B. 
C.) the marble statue of Apollo Belvidere, 
as an ideal of the beauty and propojtion of the 
human form. This statue could not have 
been the emanations of a common, ignorant, 
or gross mind. So, then, we would not think 
of submitting the question of choice or supe- 
riority between two ideals, to minds of the 
latter type, but to a mind or group of lofty 
minds refined and versed in the things which 
the ideals presented represent, and which are 
set forth as perfect types, models, or stand- 
ards, for imitation or emulation. The choice', 
then, should be submitted to minds that are 
acquainted with the rules, yes, the principles 
of perfection, or excellence; to minds that 

208 



can note the presence as well as the absence 
of these principles in any conception ad- 
vanced as an ideal. Nor are these principles 
the whims of man; but, on the contrary, are 
as real and fixed in the nature of things as 
the motions of the celestial orbs. Two of 
these principles are laws of symmetry and 
proportion, which are out-ranked only by that 
of unity. If either of these be absent from 
anything set forth as an ideal, it is then so 
far defective, and not worthy to be called an 
ideal. And while this is especially and em- 
phatically true in works of architecture, draw- 
ing and painting, as well as in all forms of 
art, it is generally true in all matters capa- 
ble and worthy of having an ideal type, model, 
or standard. This, then, signifies that some 
of the objects of any kind may be superior 
to some of the others of the same kind, while 
some one of the whole number may be supe- 
rior to all others of the group, or class. 
And yet, this superior one may not be per- 
fect, but may be defective in some one or 

209 



more particulars, which defect or defects may 
cause it to be so far short of answering 
the requirements of a standard set up as a 
model of excellence, or as an ideal of what 
the mind has conceived to be a type of per- 
fection. Thus, it will be observed that a 
thing may be superior in some respects, and 
yet not be, as a whole, an ideal. 

HOW THE IDEAL IS FORMED. 

We know that there are many classes of 
objects in the world. We know, too, that 
these classes not only differ from one another, 
but that the individuals of each class usually 
differ among themselves in respect to the 
qualities, attributes, or properties that com- 
pose each. We know that, as a rule, the 
attributes or properties of any two of these 
objects are not equal in all respects, that 
any one of them usually has too much or 
too little of this or that quality or property 
to form an ideal specimen; while, at the same 
time, it may have what the mind considers 

210 



as being a proper amount of some one qual- 
ity. In this case it stands before the mind 
as ideal or perfect in some particulars, and 
imperfect in others. So, the mind forms an 
idea that if an object were made up of only 
the perfect qualities or attributes perceived 
in these different objects, the combination 
would form an object that would be ideal; 
one that would satisfy the master mind as 
being ideal in every particular. 

Now, this act of the mind involves judg- 
ment and reason in selection. He who per- 
forms it excludes everything that tends to 
make Ms ideal defective. He selects and 
combines into a perfect whole those individual 
qualities or properties necessary to form his 
ideal. In this way an ideal is formed. So, 
then, the process consists in wisely selecting 
and combining qualities or properties that will 
make a symmetrical, proportionate, and beauti- 
ful whole; not only in works of art, but in any- 
thing worthy of an ideal. In such a case every- 
thing is present in perfect proportion. For 



211 



instance, if the ideal object has eyes, one 
will not be small and the other large, for 
this would offend the law of proportion. If 
there be but one eye, then the law of sym- 
metry is offended, which requires one on the 
opposite side to balance. A man with two 
legs is symmetrical in legs, one with two 
arms is symmetrical in arms; two eyes, two 
ears, two hands, and two feet, make one 
symmetrical in these particulars. It is a 
crime, in art, to offend either of these two 
laws. 

Proportion requires that the eyes, ears, 
legs, etc., shall be of the same size; yes, 
more, that the law of proportion shall extend 
and apply to every part of the body; that 
the legs shall be neither too small nor too 
large, neither too long nor too short for the arms, 
nor vice versa. That the eyes shall be neither 
too large nor too small for the mouth, the nose, 
or the ears; and so on, each part must be 
considered and made to correspond in these 
particulars to each and every other part, so 

212 



that there shall be a symmetrical and pro- 
portional whole, a beautiful unity. 

As previously stated, these principles or 
rules not only apply to the human form, but 
are equally applicable to everything ideal; 
for if either of these requirements be ignored, 
that which is presented as an ideal, is not 
worthy of the name. For instance, there 
have been and are different forms of govern- 
ment; some of these, in many respects, seem 
to be more defective in form and char- 
acter than others; while it is possible that 
no one of them measures up to the standard 
or model set forth by Plato in his Ideal 
Republic. But then, the mere fact that 
human nature is such that it is seemingly 
impossible to put in full practice a standard 
set up as an ideal, does not prove that the 
ideas therein set forth are not such as a 
lofty, just, and pre-eminently great mind might 
or should approve. 

The ideal, in human affairs, is not easily 
attained. Experience proves that it is much 



213 



easier to preach and draft beautiful theories 
than it is to practice them; much easier to 
form and set up ideals than it is to attain 
or maintain them. So, then, it is possible 
for a lofty and Christ-like mind with corres- 
ponding appetites and passions to form ideals 
of life and conduct too high or lofty in their 
character for the majority of the most civil- 
ized individuals or nations to reach and main- 
tain. 

But this fact should not be charged against 
the ideal, or model. What ought to be, to 
satisfy the ideal, is quite other from what 
is usually found in practice. The ideal, in 
the affairs of life, sets forth what is seemingly 
best and ought to be, thus forming a standard 
or model; an ideal, which when examined and 
approved by the head and heart of the world in 
their best estate, is considered as an object of 
excellence and worthy of attainment. 

An ideal, then — being a model of approved 
or pronounced excellence or perfection — is 
something that lies above the ordinary or 

214 



even the best in its particular line or class 
of tilings. Something that one may proudly 
strive to reach; something to be attained, if 
possible, and maintained for its intrinsic 
value. 

As we have already stated, l;here are, or 
may be, a great many different ideals. But 
of all ideals, the most difficult to attain and 
maintain, is Ideal Character. And if one 
would seek a perfect model of such — he will 
find it, as is generally conceded — in Jesus of 
Nazareth. 



215 



ONLY A TRAHP. 



"Only a tramp," so they say, "notMng 

more," 
Lying there dead where the surf beats the 

shore, 
There where the horned owl was seen in 

the tree. 
There where stern solitude looks on the 

sea. 



There where the brown bluffs their solemn 

forms rear. 
There where all night, where all day is so 

drear. 
There where the soul shrinks away as in 

fear, 
There, lies an unknown, — to somebody 

dear. 



Only a tramp, who was once but a babe, 
Sinless and thoughtless as wind, storm, or 

wave; 
Petted and played with, and coaxed on to 

creep, 
Bathed, kissed and fondled, and oft lulled 

to sleep. 



Only a tramp — young the face — most a 

man, 
Stained are his cheeks, where sad tears 

burning ran; 
Brow of much beauty, the features well 

planned, 
What may his name be, — the dead on the 

sand. 



Where now the father — sister — or brother, 
Has he a weeping, heart broken mother, 
Fled he from crime as from hound flies 

the deer. 
Whence came he — who is he — why fell 

the tear? 



Silence! no answer comes out of the sea, 
Neither brings answer the wind from the 

lea; 
Myst'ry now holds and denies to set free 
The life and the tear that ran out by the 

sea. 



We, too, are tramps; vain is he who claims 

more, 
Tramping, sin-scarred, to Eternity's shore; 
There where life's myst'ry and tramp we 

shall see, 
The life and the tear that ran out by the 

sea. 



THE SPEECHLESS VOICE AND 
WAITING PEN. 



I know it — I feel it — but cannot express 
it. How often these words fall from the lips. 
The heart is full — the head is full — but the 
tongue is silent — the pen is mute. 

The spirit says speak — write — but neither 
the tongue nor the pen respond. The eye 
hag seen — the ear has heard — the heart has 
felt — the mind conceived. There is a strong 
desire and even an attempt toward expression. 
But, alas! all is confusion — the result, a fail- 
ure. The eye is fixed upon a blank piece 
of paper, while the pen hangs motionless over 
the waiting page. Sometimes it moves — but 
when the mind has read the written words, 
it views in doubt or condemns; what has 
been written is disappointing and cast aside, 
while the effort is abandoned with a sigh 
and feeling of discouragement. 

219 



Now, why is this? What is the matter? 
The various departments of knowledge have 
been explored; the mind is stored with many 
worthy ideas, gathered here and there from 
observation and experience, and there is 
a disposition to express or impart them to 
others. Surely, there must be some good 
reason for such inability. And so there 
is, as there are those who can and do 
express their thoughts and feelings — their ob- 
servations and experiences — in an orderly and 
clear manner, while there are others who 
struggle in vain and give up in despair, be- 
lieving that the former are more gifted than 
they — a belief that may be true in some in- 
stances — but which is apt to be false in most 
cases. 

Let us consider some of the obstacles 
that lie in the path of those who fail, and 
give attention to the guides and suggestions 
that generally lead to success and place in 
the ranks of those who can and do express 
themselves in an orderly, correct, clear, and 

220 



forcible manner; and who never say, I know 
it — I feel it, but cannot express it. 

SUBJECT MATTER. 

One cannot speak or write of nothing. 
Then, to speak or write, is to speak or write 
of something. Again, this something, what- 
ever it may be — ^whether a real object or an 
attribute of such, is something that really ex- 
sists and can be so demonstrated to one or 
more of the five senses; or, it may be an 
ideal something; that is, something that can- 
not be shown to exist by any one of the 
five senses. 

Now this something, wherever it may be, 
whether in the heavens, on the earth, or be- 
neath its surface, or elsewhere, can be taken 
as subject matter or material, and each and 
every kind of a thing so existing can be 
considered by itself, or in its connection with 
other things that are more or less related to 
it or connected with it. 

So, the subject matter, or material that 

221 



produces thoughts or ideas, or excites one's 
emotions, is either of a simple, mixed, or 
varied and complicated character; and these 
ideas or emotions are related to one another 
in a variety of ways. Therefore, what one 
says or writes can be more or less simple, 
complex, or compound, as may be the subject 
that is furnished or selected. Yes, every 
one knows that there are many difPerent ob- 
jects in the world possessing a variety of at- 
tributes that differ in number, kind, or degree, 
and that bear a variety of relations to one an- 
other. Consequently, there is an unlimited 
supply and variety of material for expression 
or composition. 

Let us now proceed to note what may be 
considered strictly real in opposition to ideal 
material. 

EEAL MATERIAL. 

Under this head, anything that any one 
of the five senses can realize or cognize — 
anything that depends upon any one of these 

222 



senses in their normal condition for proof 
of its existence, is regarded as real, in contra- 
distinction to all else which lies or may exist 
beyond the ken of the five senses, and which 
we shall consider as being Ideal Material, 

Now, when we speak or write of any of 
this Eeal Material, we expect some one of 
the five senses to be able to witness or cog- 
nize the truth of what we say or write; or, 
in other words, we expect that anyone having 
the five senses, will attest (other things being 
equal) whether what we have said or written 
is true or false. And what we have just 
said applies, not only to sensible objects, but, 
of course, to their respective attributes, as 
well as to space and time, which are reali- 
ties to us since they surround and accompany 
objects, but which realities, no one of man's 
five senses can realize as visible objects. 

IDEAL MATTEE. 

Whatever lies or exists in any form, shape, 
or manner, beyond the range or limit of 

223 



any one of the five senses, is, strictly 
speaking, ideal material, and may be so 
called in contradistinction to that which 
is usually termed real, which is anything 
and everything that appeals in some form 
or other directly to some one of the five 
senses. 

Upon a careful and thoughtful examina- 
tion of any of the so-called ideal or imag- 
inary matter, it is easily seen that the 
same is based upon, or suggested by things 
that are real in the sense of being material, 
or an attribute of such. And since we have 
the real or sensible, and the ideal or mental, 
and since the two are so intimately connect- 
ed, they afford us material for the creation 
of a third and mixed class of ideas, which 
gives us three distinct species of composition; 
namely, the real, the ideal, and the mixed. 
In the first of these, we look for reality; in 
the second, for ideality; and in the third, for 
an intermixture of the first two. More than 
these three there cannot be; no matter how 

224 



secular or sacred may be the nature or char- 
acter of the composition. So, then, of real 
and ideal material, there is an inexhaustible 
supply for expression, oral or written. 

SENTENCES. 

Now every composition (which is only a 
collection of thoughts, ideas, desires, or emo- 
tions, produced by something and spread or 
strung out before the mind in some form or 
other) is formed of what is expressed in 
words arranged into sentences. By adding 
sentence to sentence, a string or structure 
of expressed ideas, or emotions, which may 
be real or ideal, or a mixture of both, is 
produced. The length of such a structure 
will depend, of course, upon the number 
and length of the sentences that form it; and 
these will depend for their length upon the 
number of ideas, thoughts, or emotions that 
are thus put into words, phrases, or clauses. 

Now, since all kinds of composition are 
made of sentences and depend much upon 

225 



the character of the latter for their merits or 
demerits, for their force, beauty or value, it is 
of moment to those who would speak or write 
well, that they study thoroughly the art of 
constructing every kind of sentence, so as to 
form the same according to the rules laid 
down in the grammer of the language in 
which they write or speak. 

LENGTH OF SENTENCES. 

A sentence can be short and simple, or 
very long and intricate. Upon the examina- 
tion of a long sentence, it will be found 
that its length is occasioned by its modifiers; 
that is, such words, phrases, or clauses as 
represent attributes, or circumstances, the 
latter being such as time, place, manner, 
identity, cause, effect, purpose, or explanations, 
or words of illustration. 

Thus it will be seen that a sentence can 
contain, at least, seven modifiers or modify- 
ing elements, representing, as above, some 
particular time, place, manner, cause, purpose, 

226 



explanation, or attributes, besides illustra- 
tions; or it may contain but one, or all of 
these modifiers. 

Again, each of these modifiers can be 
long or short, that is, formed of few or 
many words. So it will be seen that when a 
sentence is made of few words it will be short; 
that when it is made of many words, it will 
be long; that the longer the sentences are, 
the longer will be the paragraphs that they 
together make. 

HOW TO MAKE A LONG SENTENCE SHORT. 

Now, if one has a long sentence, and it 
be desirable to change it into a short one 
without destroying its substance, such is easi- 
ly accomplished by striking out any one, or 
more, or all of the seven elements above 
mentioned. One can strike out the time 
phrases, clauses or words, and leave all the 
rest; or, he can let the time element stand 
and strike out any one or all of the others; or, 
he can let the time element, or any one of 

227 



the modifiers stand, and strike out any one, 
or more, or all of the others, and the 
sentence will be short and proper, with its 
heart and soul intact, although it will not 
say so much. Now, if a sentence can be 
abreviated by striking out any one or more 
of these elements or modifiers, it can, of 
course, when short, be made longer, or very 
long, by writing into the short sentence in 
its proper place, what has been left out; 
namely, any or all of the above mentioned 
modifiers. 

HEAD AND HEART OP A SENTENCE. 

The head and heart of a sentence, its 
substance, its two most important factors, that 
which must be, or there is no sentence, are 
the subject and its verb; that is, the name of 
the thing spoken or written about, together 
with its verb. What these two are is easily 
ascertained by striking out the modifying 
elements previously mentioned, leaving only 
the subject and its verb; or, it may be ascer- 

228 



tained by striking out simply the subject and 
its verb, leaving all the other elements, which 
will make no sense by themselves without the 
subject and its verb to which the modifiers 
relate. 

WHEN TO ADD MODIFYING ELEMENTS. 

If I am talking or writing about any- 
thing, and I wish to tell where it is, I must, 
of course, add or write the modifier, the 
place. Again, if I wish to tell where I saw 
it, or where it was seen, or when it was seen, 
or how it acted, or anything connected with 
or related to it, I must add or write into the 
sentence corresponding or proper modifiers. 

Again, if I want to tell why it is as it is, 
or why it acted or acts as it did or does, I 
must write into or add to the sentence the 
why, — the cause element, — and so on, as to 
each of its modifying elements. 

But any one of these modifiers may be 
expressed in a separate sentence by itself, 
after the subject and its verb has been stated; 

229 



as, for instance, John struck Henry. Now 
then, the place element may stand by itself 
in a separate sentence, thus: This act upon 
the part of John was committed in Boston. 
This separate sentence, expressing the place 
of the act, might have been added to John 
struck Henry as a modifier, and not have 
been written as a separate sentence; as, John 
struck Henry in Boston. 

Again: It was done on the 4th day of 
June, 1897. This is the time element, which 
might have been written as a modifier in the 
first sentence, so as to read: John struck 
Henry in Boston, on the 4th day of June, 1897. 
Again: The act was occasioned by ill will. 
This is the why or cause element, following 
in a separate sentence. It might have been 
placed thus: John struck Henry in Boston, 
on the 4th day of June, 1897, which act was 
occasioned by ill will. 

Again: The deed was done in a very 
brutal manner. This is the manner element, 
following in a separate sentence. It might 

230 



have been expressed and placed thus: John 
struck Henry in a very brutal manner in 
Boston, on the 4th day of June, 1897, which 
act was occasioned by ill will. 

Thus, it will be seen that each modify- 
ing or explanatory element can stand in a 
separate sentence by itself. It will also be 
seen that out of a long sentence, a number 
of short ones can be formed. Again, that 
out of a number of short sentences that serve 
as modifiers to express the place, time, etc. 
elements, a long sentence can be made by 
using proper conjunctions, or relative links, 
to bind or connect them to the principal 
sentence to which they relate. 

HOW TO CONSTRUOT BENTENCES. 

Every subject or object has some place 
and time in the world. It also exists or acts 
in some manner, and is in some manner re- 
lated to or affected by other objects. Now, 
when one writes a very short sentence, its 
subject is simply mentioned and followed by a 

231 



verb-word that states what the subject is, or 
what it does, or expresses some single thing 
concerning it. But, as already stated, a short 
sentence can be enlarged, strung out, de- 
veloped, by the use of modifying words, phrases, 
or clauses, placed before or after the subject 
or its verb. These tell where the object is, 
or was seen; is acting, or being acted upon; 
or, they tell what the object or subject is, 
was, or will be; or of what class it is. Or, 
they may indicate how it is seen; or is act- 
ing; or what it is acting for; or the cause 
of it; or its effects, etc. So, many things 
can be said of anything. 

Each of these particulars can be stated, 
as has been said, in one sentence, in a man- 
ner that will not violate the rule of unity, 
and so as to avoid confusion. But if any- 
thing foreign to the subject is brought be- 
fore the mind in the sentence — in its string 
of words, phrases, or clauses — there will be 
confusion due to a mixture of different sub- 
jects or ideas that are not by nature con- 

232 



nected with one another, and which will 
thereby produce a violation of the rule. 
However, it is to be borne in mind that the 
modifiers of place, time, or manner of sub- 
jects, thoughts, objects and acts, belong to 
them, and for that reason can be mentioned 
in the same sentence. 

PAEAGEAPHS. 

By adding sentence to sentence, long or 
short, a paragraph is built. Sometimes only 
one sentence forms a paragraph. In these 
sentences all that can be said of a thing 
may be expressed. So, too, by adding para- 
graph to paragraph the chapter is built, after 
the manner of building the sentence and the 
paragraph; and in this way the book is made, 
by adding chapter to chapter. Thus, there, 
is spread out before the mind in sentences, 
paragraphs, chapters, books, volumes, etc., in 
a natural and orderly manner, all that there 
is to, or in any way connected with a subject. 

In this way the subject is brought be- 

233 



fore the mind in pieces, and thus, all that 
there is to it, or has to do with it, item 
after item, is presented. So, it will be ob- 
served, that the sentence, although but a 
fraction, is the foundation of the paragraph; 
that there can be no paragraph without one 
or more sentences to form such, and that 
of such the chapter is formed. It will also 
be noticed that the rule of unity, which must 
not be violated in building up the sentence, 
must also be observed in making the para- 
graph; that all that is said about any one 
item, part, or branch of a subject, must stand 
in a paragraph by itself. So, then, how 
necessary it is that one should study to know 
how to make any and all kinds of sentences; 
also, to know what may be cut out of a 
long sentence, so as to shorten it without 
destroying or removing its substance; also, to 
know what may be added or inserted, that 
will not destroy its unity or its meaning. 
Let one learn how to form sentences cor- 
rectly and he will not find it difficult to 

234 



build up the paragraph; for the same prin- 
ciples or rules govern both. 

MATERIAL. 

There is no end to material. It is as 
unlimited and varied as all creation. It is 
all that one can experience or realize with 
any one of his senses, or that the mind can 
conceive or imagine in the real or the ideal 
world. 

Some of this material is animate while 
some of it is not; some of it moves about 
upon the earth or in the air, while some of 
it is fixed in space without power in itself 
to move. Again, some of it is large, and 
some of it is small; some of it is of one 
color and some of another; some of it is of 
a lasting, and some of it of a perishable qual- 
ity; some of it is agreeable and some dis- 
agreeable to the senses; some of it is use- 
ful, and some is seemingly of little or no 
importance. Again, an examination of this 
material reveals the fact that some of it stirs 

235 



the emotions; that when it comes in contact 
with the eye or the ear it awakens in the 
heart feelings of sympathy and tenderness. 
It is also noticeable that some things pass on 
from the eye or the ear directly to the mind, 
without reaching or stirring the heart. This 
being true, it is quite important that the 
student of composition should study to easi- 
ly detect and select at will material that con- 
tains heart touching attributes or properties, 
whenever the purpose of his composition de- 
mands it. 

HEART MATERIAL. 

In the natural world there are many things 
that appeal first to the heart and next to the 
understanding. The sight of these awaken 
in the beholder tender and loving emotions. 
Again, there are many things the sight or 
sound of which causes inquiry only, that never 
reach the heart and cause it to vibrate with 
feelings of tenderness, sympathy, or affection. 
Among the former objects are birds, flowers, 

236 



animals, and human beings, and many other 
objects that the fancy or imagination of the 
reader may recall, while those things that 
appeal mostly to the mind are of a mathemat- 
ical or mechanical nature, 

OBDEB. 

Order in composition requires that some 
one thing must be said first, and something else 
last; that all else that is or can be said of 
the subject under consideration, must be said 
between these two points. So, it is clear that 
all that is said, or thought, or felt, cannot 
be said in one word or sentence; and that 
if what ought to be spoken of last, because 
it naturally and orderly comes last, should be 
expressed first, or vice versa, or in the second, 
third, or fourth place, and so on, should ap- 
pear in the first place, or the last place, there 
would be disorder, confusing to the speaker or 
writer so that he would proceed, if at all, with 
difficulty, besides being obscure and liable to 

287 



be misunderstood by those with whom he 
would communicate. 

Again, we notice that why so many fail 
in their attempts at expression is because of 
the lack of order thus mentioned, which tends 
to confuse and embarrass them in their ef- 
forts, as well as to cause them to forget the 
matter of which they would speak or write. 

ORDER AND ARRANGEMENT. 

The terms order and arrangement seem to 
be at first thought identical, but they are not. 
Things can be arranged in an orderly or dis- 
orderly manner; so, it will be noticed that 
the terms order and arrangement are not 
identical in meaning. For example, when a 
thing is placed in its regular or proper place, 
it is in order; when a thing occurs at its 
proper time, it does so in its order. Again, 
when a thing is heard at its proper time, it 
is heard in its order; likewise, when a thing 
is taken up by the mind for consideration in 

238 



its regular or allotted place or time, it is taken 
up in its order. 

When the question is asked, in what 
order shall we proceed to arrange the words 
of a sentence, and we are told to place the 
noun or subject word first, and next, its 
verb, and then, right after the verb its ob- 
ject, if it has one, we are giving the order 
in which the words should succeed one an- 
other. Thus, it will be observed that order 
in composition means more especially the 
time or place in the sentence in which things 
written about should succeed one another. 
For instance, the numbers one, two, three, 
etc., follow one another in a natural or numer- 
ical order; but to place them as one, three, 
two, etc., would be to place them in an ir- 
regular or disorderly manner. 

DIVISIONAL WORK. 

As is well known, there is a multitude 
of different objects, all of which are more or 
less in some manner related to one another. 

239 



Again, each object has been created for a 
purpose. Some of these are living, breath- 
ing things, others are not. Each occupies 
space, or has a place, and a time of ex- 
istence. Now, when we write or speak of 
these, we use words which are supposed to 
represent them, where they are, or why they 
are, and anything else that can be said of 
them. Now, all that can be said about them 
is what they are, why they are, where they are, 
when they are, and how they are; or what 
relation they bear to one another, their use, 
purpose, and how they affect mankind in all 
their various relations. When all is said or 
written of a subject or object that is known 
or can be imagined of it, it is said to be ex- 
hausted. Now, it frequently happens that 
one would speak or write of the whole of a 
subject and its relations to other things; then, 
again, it is more desirable, proper, or sufficient, 
to consider only a part or some particular 
branch of the subject. Hence, divisional 
work is of great importance in all species of 

240 



composition. The whole of anything is capa- 
ble of being analyzed or divided into the parts 
of which it is composed. And as these parts 
may be few or many, the first thing to do is 
to ascertain how many parts the whole con- 
tains. Secondly, to separate and place them 
under an appropriate name or heading, in this 
way making a list or division of them. This 
having been done, they should then be ar- 
ranged in an orderly manner. Some one of 
the parts must occupy the first place. In de- 
termining which of the parts shall or should 
be placed first, and which in the second, or 
third place, and so on, one should be guided 
by the following rule : Write that first which 
comes first in the nature of things, or in the 
order of time, and upon which each of the 
other parts of the subject depends or naturally 
follows; and so on, until all the 'parts have 
been disposed of. When this has been done, 
the whole subject has been exhausted. Noth- 
ing more can be said of it. But if all of it 
is not wanted, or is inappropriate, or not to 



211 



the purpose, take that part or branch of it 
that satisfies the demand and let the rest go, 
as was said of the modifiers in the sentences. 

SPACE AND TIME ELEMENTS. 

These so-called accidents attend all sub- 
jects, but are not parts or qualities of them. 
They serve only to fix, bound, or limit them, 
so that the mind can contemplate the subject 
or object without being confused or distract- 
ed, as it would be by the consideration of 
things in a vague or uncertain space, or time. 
The mind, when active, is ever apt to wander, 
and is stationary only when the object it 
contemplates is located for its consideration. 
Therefore, it is that these circumstances or 
accidents of a subject or object are properly 
considered first. We divide time or duration 
into small and large pieces. Some things 
happen or exist for a day, others for a century, 
and so on. The life and development of some 
things occupy the space of a hundred years; 
others require more time for growth and de- 

242 



velopment. So, we speak of the growth and 
development of a thing, as the growth and de- 
velopment of a country, its government; the 
growth and development of an art, or a science. 
We notice that there is a beginning and an 
end to the life of certain plants; that they 
have a longer or shorter period of life. Again, 
that the same is true of animals, and likewise 
as to the growth and development of things 
in the natural as well as in the art world. 

Thus, it will be noticed that space and 
time remain after things have had their be- 
ginning, growth, development, and death. 
Hence, space and time are no parts of them, 
but merely accidents. As we have said before, 
they are unlimited realities within which all 
things exist or take place. Therefore, in speak- 
ing or writing of anything, it is necessary that 
it be given a time and a locality. How often 
do we hear one speak of some event, and 
the inquiry comes, Where did this occur? 
When did it occur? And so on. Thus, it 
will be seen that by fixing in space and 



243 



time the things that we speak or write about, 
the mind is brought from its wanderings to 
some definite place and to some particular 
point of time, and thus made stationary to 
contemplate the subject, object, or ideas that 
engage its attention. 



2U 



A HERO. 

Hurrah! for the man with a purpose, 
Who toils with the bee and the ant; 
Who lives not to vice but to virtue, 
Sees beauty in nature and art! 



Who's up with the lark in the morning, 
While the dew-drop is yet on the rose; 
Who scorns to rob widow or orphan; 
Lives and works by the great Golden Rule. 



Who finds in the first law of Heaveri 
That order is peace, born of love; 
That trouble is bred by confusion, 
A vagrant from Satan's abode. 



Who notes that his days here are numbered; 
That things which are sought here and won, 
Are soon like himself — soon forgotten, 
Just a drop on a wheel in a whirl. 

Whose purpose is noble — uplifting. 
Lives for self, but for others as well; 
And who carries his burdens and duties 
With a heart light and brave to the end. 

The angels await him, this Hero, 
With harps, and with garlands to crown; 
With honors that blossom in glory, 
Where peace, joy, and love doth abound. 



Then live we a life of such purpose; 
Nor seek we the dross of a day; 
Vain praises and honors, so fleeting, 
That vanish as mist o'er the lea. 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 



Nothing IS more apparent than the fact 
that this is a world of causes and effects. 
Nothing is or happens without a sufficient 
cause, something that precedes and acts to 
produce an effect with which it directly or 
indirectly connects. Nature is busy every- 
where doing something. That which she ac- 
complishes are termed effects. Nature, the 
producer, is the agent or cause; so, we have 
the producer and the effects produced. And 
since the latter proceeds as a manifestation 
from the former, comes out of it, as it were, 
and would not appear or happen were it 
not that the former existed and produced it, 
so it is that the two are so intimately con- 
nected or related. This connection or rela- 
tion is termed the relation of cause and effect. 
It is a most wonderful relation, one that is 

247 



not always easily traced, one which compels 
us often to say that the cause of this or that 
is a mystery, simply meaning thereby that it 
is unknown, yet not denying that a cause 
exists, for that we cannot do without deny- 
ing what is clearly a universal law, namely, 
that every effect has (and must have) a cause. 
That which we term phenomena or appear- 
ances in nature are only effects proceeding 
from some cause, some agency, whether known 
or not, something acting to produce such. 
This is true of the rainbow, the Aurora 
Borealis, the earthquake, the volcano, the 
lightning, the thunder, and all other phe- 
nomena, more or less common to the knowl- 
edge of man. In fact, when anything changes 
its appearance or form it is because some 
actire principle, cause or force has worked 
or is working to produce the change or ap- 
pearance. Many of these changes are so 
wonderful and interesting that we are con- 
stantly seeking the cause or causes of such. 
If the change is not agreeable to us we seek 

248 



the cause that has wrought it, and having 
found it seek to prevent, neutralize, modify, 
or divert its effects in the future. So it is 
that some are ever busy hunting for causes 
and seeking to reproduce desired effects, or 
studying how to divert or prevent the re- 
currence of those that are undesirable. Those 
who are studying how to prolong life are 
only seeking for that which will continue 
an effect, namely. Life; or for that which will 
delay or defeat the causes of death. Yes, 
this world is one great complex unit of causes 
and effects. But each department thereof 
has its own special causes and effects, while 
within each of these departments, or, as it 
were, running through each and connecting 
all of them, are certain fixed or universal 
laws or principles, acting like so many rods 
or wires that run from house to house or 
from room to room. So, while there is a 
connected series or chain of primary or 
secondary causes and effects in each depart- 
ment of nature, there is also the relation of 

249 



interdependence or reciprosity existing between 
these various departments that form this won- 
derful unit, nature: the first great cause of 
which is said to be God. Thus we have 
discovered in nature what is scientifically 
termed the correlation of forces. 

But we are usually more interested in 
effects than in causes. We live for the effect, 
the enjoyment thereof. It is the rainbow, 
its phenomenon, as an effect, that interest us; 
and it is only now and then that a person 
asks the why of it; nor do we often find 
one who can tell the cause of it, he not hav- 
ing taken sufficient interest to hold in re- 
membrance the cause of such when advised 
of it. The same is true of a thousand and 
one effects that we witness or enjoy. We 
strive for the effect, and worship it, if we 
worship at all, throwing aside or disregard- 
ing the cause so soon as the effect is ob- 
tained. Hence, it is that man is more easily 
interested in the present than in the past; 
and if interested at all in the past it is in 

250 



the immediate past, as he is in the immedi- 
ate future, both of which seem to be a part 
of the present. Few indeed, are they, com- 
paratively speaking, who find delight in delv- 
ing among the ancient ruins of the great — 
dead past. There are comparatively few 
archaeological or paleontological minds. It 
is the now and the hereafter that interest 
most of us, rather than what has been. Cu- 
riosity, now and then, for a time, looks back- 
ward, but only to borrow light from the 
great historic past. 

It is the color, form, and fragrance of 
the rose that engage our senses and delight 
us, rather than the cause or causes that 
operated to produce such. When the former 
disappears or ceases to exist, we cast the 
rose aside; for it, as an effect of light, heat, 
moisture, and the chemical properties of the 
soil that caused it to be, and which as an 
effect in time became a source of pleasure 
to our senses, has ceased to exist. So it is 
that the beautiful colors of the rainbow at- 

251 



tract our attention. It is the charming effect 
of such that captivates the eye and awakens 
within the mind a sense of beauty. This 
wonderful phenomenon may prompt the be- 
holder, after somewhat recovering from its 
captivating effect, to inquire for the cause 
of it. But this knowledge, when given, will 
and does soon fade away, while the effect 
remains in the memory as a delight and a 
charm. Again, we stand, gaze, admire, and 
wonder at the brilliant, magnificent and spell- 
binding display of the Aurora Borealis, as it 
appears from time to time as though by 
special magic. After viewing this wonder 
awhile, and the mind has recovered somewhat 
from its ravishing effects, the cause of such 
awe inspiring manifestations is sought, and 
if some accepted cause is offered as an ex- 
planation, but little effort is made to retain 
or remember it, so fascinating and engross- 
ing was the effect that the cause thereof is 
allowed to escape, or is but imperfectly re- 
membered, if at all, while the effect is not 

262 



forgotten and its return is awaited with in- 
terest. What we have said of these wonder- 
ful phenomena is true of the Mirage and other 
beautiful, engaging, and wonderful appearances 
in nature, that so appeal to the mind and 
soul of man through the sense of sight. 

But the phenomena here referred to form 
but one class of effects; and although chaste, 
beautiful and awe inspiring as most of them 
are, exciting and appealing to the loftier and 
more divine attributes of our nature, there are 
other effects in nature that play upon the 
mind of man in its various moods, and to 
which he yields himself a willing captive. 
These appeal to him through his sense of 
hearing, and he is again lost in rapture and 
wonder at nature's wonderful acoustics, as they 
reach and delight his soul through his sense 
of hearing. 

So, like a divine rival, as it were, come 
the music of the spheres, the roar of the cat- 
aract, the ocean, the thunder, the mad tornado. 
Then, more gently, come the sighing zephyrs, 

253 



the warbling of birds, the hum of insects. 
Again, he is moved by the whispers of love, 
accompanied by the sympathizing and touch- 
ing strains of the harp; or, at the altar, by 
the majestic notes of the kingly organ, as it 
pours forth its flood of praise and adoration. 
From all these and many other sources, 
his heart and soul is reached and stirred 
through his sense of hearing. Aye, how 
manifold and wonderful are the captivat- 
ing and charming effects that are thus fur- 
nished for the spirit of man through the eye 
and the ear! 

Is it strange, then, that the seeing, hear- 
ing, and thus enjoying multitude, intoxicated 
or charmed by such varied delights, finds 
little time or inclination to seek for causes 
in the midst of such a variety of bewitch- 
ing and alluring phenomena and pleasures? 



254 



CHRISTMAS TIDE. 



Fill the goblet full of pleasure ! 
Let each heart quaff its full measure! 
Christ was born for prince and peasant; 
Swell the waves of joy incessant! 

List! — the bells from steeples ringing! 
Little children carols singing, 
Of that star the East adorning; 
On that glorious birthday morning! 

Strike the harp and sound the cymbal! 
Wake the viol and the timbrel ! 
Laugh — be merry — banish sorrow — 
Lightly think thou on the morrow. 

Hark! the music — dance ye after! 
Glide ye on in mirth and laughter! 
Whirl in grace and pretty costume! 
Sparkling eyes and cheeks in full bloom I 



Ho! for lap robes, sleigh bells, prancersl 
Dash away like brave young lancers! 
Speed the moonlit snow-cloud way! 
On! proud coursers, dark and bay! 



Now to feasting — not to folly, 
Under boughs of fir and holly, 
Lo! the boards so bounteous laden, 
Gifts for parents, brother, maiden. 



Christmas Joys of all the brightest, 
Hearts at Christmas tide the lightest, 
Praise to thee — Almighty Giver, 
For the birth of Christ forever. 



STATES AND MOODS OF THE MIND. 



A great logician has said that in man 
there is nothing great but mind. That this 
is true, no one of ordinary intelligence will 
deny. Not that all minds are by nature equally 
great in their perceptive, conceptive, judicial, 
and reasoning faculties, but that the most 
important and valuable thing in man, is mind. 
This is as true of the savage and the bar- 
barian as it is of the most civilized and 
enlightened. Some may choose to modify 
this statement by saying that it is true with 
the exception that the most valuable thing 
in man is that which is said to be the eternal 
principle, (the soul,) which, some affirm, is 
something in man that is separate and dis- 
tinct from his natural mind. However this 
may be, it is clear that the view taken by 
the logician is one psychological rather than 

257 



psychical. It is in the former sense that the 
mind is considered as being the greatest thing 
in man, without assuming, admitting, or de- 
nying, that there is or may be a psychic or 
eternal principle of life within him. 

But our purpose is to call the reader's 
attention to certain facts that have been 
observed and experienced concerning this 
wonderful, this marvelous, this complex some- 
thing that occupies the brain of man, that 
differentiates and makes him superior to the 
brutes of the field. 

How often it is said of a person, and 
even of a community, that he or it is in this 
or that state or mood of mind; or that his or 
its mental attitude toward this or that person 
or thing is of this or that character. Now, 
what does this imply, if not the fact that 
the mind is not always in one and the same 
state or mood? To illustrate, A number 
of different states form the United States, 
A person today may be in one of these, then 
tomorrow in another: a change subjecting 

258 



him to different laws and environments. So, 
too, by way of analogy, tlie mind is found 
sometimes in one and then again in another 
of its various states or moods, according to 
circumstances. These different states or moods 
appear in different forms, namely: cheerful- 
ness — despondency — enthusiasm — indifference 
— benevolence — love — hatred — anger — anticipa- 
tion — ^hopefulness — repentance, or faith, etc. 
Hence it is that we frequently speak of one 
as being in a state of wretchedness; or de- 
spair; or despondency; or in some other state 
of mind. Now some of these states or moods 
are agreeable, while others are the reverse, 
in this sense corresponding to a person's phys- 
ical or mental condition or circumstances. 
But there is a difference, fine though it may 
be and not easily defined, between a state 
and a mood of mind. A state of mind, it 
seems, is more deeply seated and fixed, or 
of a longer growth than one of mood. We 
never speak of one as being in a mood of 
despair, but rather in a state of despair. One 

259 



may be, and frequently is, in a despondent 
mood or frame of mind, without being in a 
state of despondency. In such a case, one 
may be said, as it were^ to be on the border 
line of the state of such feeling rather than 
settled within it. The distinction, then, seems 
to be, that a mood is only a temporary con- 
dition of the mind, while a state of mind 
results from a long continuation of the cause 
that produces the mood. So, then, a mood 
may be characterized as semi-acute, while a 
state may be termed chronic. 

Some persons are constitutionally of a 
moody disposition — as though born in a cloud 
of gloom — while others are right the reverse 
— come what will — as though born in a halo 
of mirth and kissed by the morning sun. 



SUPPOSE. 

Suppose thou wert a bee, and I were some 

sweet flower; 
That on my blushing petals thou hadst 

lingered many an hour, 
A-nestling, dreaming, sipping sweets — in 

paradise — my bower, 
All hidden from the rude without, thy 

senses in my power; 
That then, some other bee or bees should 

seek those sweets to share. 
And I should flirt and mix with them, a- 

buzzing in the air, 
Inviting them more free to be, on finding 

thee elsewhere. 
Lest thou might see, and seeing feel, thy 

flower false, not fair — 
Wouldst thou still sweet my honey find? 

Sweeter than any flower? 
Or, wouldst thou sicken in thy cell, thinking 

my honey sour? 



WHERE THE RIVER RAN LOW. 



Only a word — where the river ran low, 

Slowly away to the meadows below, 

But the word remained, and the speaker, 

too, 
As the stars looked on from their sea of 

blue. 

Only a touch, on a hand that hung limp, 
While light zephyrs played with golden 

locks crimp, 
But that touch, so manly, so pure, so true, 
Tinged lip and cheek — to my soul it flew. 

Only a kiss — but I hasten to tell 
The holy thrill of that bliss-bound spell, 
How a bosom did fall, and rise, and swell 
With joy and love that doth yet there 
dwell. 

Only a promise, made there in the dell, 
Where but two hearts beat as the dewdrops 

fell, 
Yet, the word, the touch, kiss, and promise 

true, 
Are fixed in my heart, as stars in the blue. 



THE ACCIDENTS OF LIFE. 



This phrase is full of meaning to a person 
of years. He reflects but a moment to realize 
that in many human affairs success or fail- 
ure may be traced to what is termed, the 
accidents of life. 

How many things occur in one's lifetime 
that he does not design and cannot foresee, 
that defeat his hopes, aspirations, or expecta- 
tions. How often it is said that "if nothing 
happens," or, "barring all accidents," I shall 
do this or that thing, or, that this or that 
will be the result, etc. Thus it is from the 
cradle to the grave that one of necessity runs 
the gantlet of accidents. They lurk on either 
side of one's pathway awaiting his coming 
and going. He knows not the time nor the 
place that he may be a victim of such. He 
knows, however, that they have occurred in 

263 



the past and that under like circumstances 
or conditions they are likely again to happen. 
So, all that he can do is to guard against 
them or be prepared for them. The fact 
that they do take place at times without be- 
ing so designed by man, that they come un- 
sought, unexpectedly, and without warning, 
mark them as accidents. 

We say that the laws of nature are con- 
stant and uniform. And so they are. But 
they frequently clash with one another, and 
then the lesser force is compelled by the 
greater one to halt in its tendency or turn 
its course that the greater force may pass; 
just as human beings or animals clash with 
one another in their desires or opinions until 
the one or the other yields or both are 
neutralized, modified, or vanquished by con- 
flict. 

There is seemingly no force in the ob- 
jective world that does not contribute its 
share in the production of the accidents 
of life. It is the operation or clashing of 

264 



these forces that cause such. Yes, life is 
full of accidents. They come not regularly* 
at stated times, as do the sun and the seasons, 
but rather like the thief in the night, with- 
out warning. 

To this or that accident may be traced 
many a lost battle, many a lost opportunity; 
nay, many a victory has been turned to de- 
feat. To such may be traced many a suc- 
cess as well as many a failure in the affairs 
of life. By mere accident many a letter has 
gone astray; many a fatal word has been spoken; 
many a train has been wrecked or missed, re- 
sulting in bittei: disappointment or serious loss. 
To a mere accident may be traced many a 
grave and many a sorrow; many a tear and 
many a joy. Thus it is that one's life is not 
only beset with trials and temptations, but 
also by these hidden foes that lie in wait 
for him and from which he cannot always 
escape. 

But it will be noticed that while nature 
contributes her quota of accidents, the greater 

265 



number of those that visit man may be traced 
directly to his ignorance, negligence, or care- 
lessness. Yes, the life of one here is never 
free from some pending or awaiting evil or 
misfortune. 

Man is not only a victim of his own 
ignorance and folly, but also of that of others. 
Hence, all things considered, the man or woman 
who has lived the three score years and ten, is a 
wonder and deserves respectful attention and 
tender, consideration from the young and 
vigorous. 



266 



ANGELIC BEAUTY. 



There's a beauty divine, that the angels 

admire, 
The keynote of song in the angelic choir; 
With a manner as sweet as the notes of a 

lyre, 
Unadorned by the diamond, the pearl, or 

sapphire. 



Cosmetics she spurns and vain gaudy attire, 

She glows with a radium of holy desire; 

All fadeless and deathless — angelic her 
fire, — 

The sphere of the pure is her sacred em- 
pire. 



This beauty, tho' rare, e'en the pauper may 

share; 
She loves either sex or age, homely or fair; 
No artist can paint her complexion so rare. 
She, Goddess of Purity, daughter of 

prayer. 



THE SOUL. 



Why think of the Soul as a pea in the 

pod, 
Or as pearl in the oyster that fishermen 

rob; 
Why speak of thine ego, an essence of 

God, 
As tho 'twere a solid rolled up in a sod? 



Soul is Life; it is mind; it is feeling; aye, 

and more; 
It is something mysterious, — conscious 

self, — not of lore; 
It is something proud science fails to scan 

or explore, 
It is God, life eternal, sane mortals adore. 



THE END JUSTIFIES THE MEANS. 



What is meant by this pompous, this 
magisterial proposition that is frequently ut- 
tered with great gusto, as though it were a 
sacred maxim and worthy of respectful atten- 
tion, even though it fails to sustain its high 
sounding and pretentious character when ex- 
amined in the light of cultivated reason? 

It is not a commonplace, everyday propo- 
sition, one of the lighter sort that one hears 
in the ordinary affairs of life. It is an ab- 
stract proposition seeking classification and 
rank as a fundamental, one that would pose as a 
maxim or principle upon which to build a 
doctrine of moral conduct. Now, it is self 
evident that such a doctrine can be no more 
just or reasonable than the basic principles 
upon which it rests. It is also logically 
clear that there is no proposition greater or 

269 



more extensive than one that proclaims a 
universal fact or truth, whatever the character 
of such a fact or truth may be, whether it be 
in matters of science, art, or ethics. And 
since the proposition that the end justifies 
the means is set forth as a general one, with- 
out exceptions, we must regard it as being 
applicable to all cases of human conduct. 
And if it be true, there is no human act 
that cannot be justified by it. If the end 
that one seeks is in itself worthy, and this 
proposition is to be taken literally and with- 
out limitation, he will be justified in employ- 
ing, directly or indirectly, any means what- 
ever for its attainment, no matter how vicious 
or evil such means may be. There is no 
crime that he may not commit with impunity 
so long as that which he would accomplish, 
when considered independently of the means 
employed for its attainment, is worthy of ap- 
proval. 

Ah! it is apparent that this is a danger- 
ous proposition to follow in all cases. It is 

270 



like some other trite sayings that have as- 
sumed rank in many a mind with common 
axioms and approved maxims, and which, when 
expressed with an air of authority, fall upon 
the ear with a force and dignity that for the 
time being silences doubt. But it is as false 
as the proposition that "might makes right;" 
a Machivellian doctrine that flourished during 
those terrible days of the Spanish Inquisition, 
to which it may be traced and in which it 
was exercised with so much fury and cruelty. 
It is purely Jesuitic and inhuman in its char- 
acter. Its author and sponsors must have 
been depraved in mind and tyrants «.t heart. 
Any individual, society, state or nation, that 
gives such a proposition an unqualified and 
unlimited indorsement should be regarded as 
barbarous and vicious. And while it may 
carry with it a halo of right, might, and author- 
ity, which may dazzle and confound the igno- 
rant, encourage the vicious, and win their 
active approval, yet, those capable of think- 
ing justly and humanely will at once reject 

271 



it. It has ever been condemned by the wisest 
and best of men. The casuist may use and 
approve of it on rare occasions, even as a 
nation does in times of war, when it slaught- 
ers by the wholesale and destroys property in 
its might of arms that peace may follow. 
On the same principle and for similar reasons, 
the knife, the torch, the bomb, or any like 
means may be used approvingly to remove 
the tyrant or the oppressor in the name of 
liberty or for those we love, for the sake of 
humanity, God, or the Church. If the end justi- 
fies the means, the Osier theory, that one 
should be chloroformed at the age of 60, 
is a just one. So, too, every idiotic or de- 
formed child that is born should not be al- 
lowed to live and suffer, and be a cause 
of pain and mortification to others. 

But are there no cases where the end 
would seem to justify the means? cases where 
the heart rebels and weeps while circumstances 
assent and reason approves? Yes, there seems 
to be such. But in such cases, one' will find 

272 



that the means resorted to are not suggested 
by any other than a loving or noble spirit, 
and not then, until every other known and 
available means has been employed and 
failed. There are cases where even love, 
mercy, and justice, seem to be cruel or 
tyrannical. Many of these are to be found 
in cases of surgery, where the surgeon is per- 
mitted and encouraged to cut, bleed, probe, 
or sever the members of the human body, 
that the patient may continue to live or be 
relieved from suffering. The dentist know- 
ingly causes pain that relief may follow. In 
these cases there is nothing selfish or cruel 
in the motive, although the means employed 
may cause suffering for a time. It is the 
same spirit that prompts the parent to punish 
the child. It is the same unselfish and un- 
revengeful spirit that finds it necessary to 
build the jail, the workhouse, the penitentiary, 
and other places of confinement for the wrong- 
doer that society may be preserved and its 
morals maintained or improved. 

273 



But when such are built from any other 
motive than that prompted by justice, self- 
preservation, or humanity, and when human 
beings are confined therein to appease the 
greed or lust of an individual, community, 
or nation, then the end cannot possibly justi- 
fy the means. To the Tower, to the Bastile, 
to the block, to the scaffold, or into exile, 
many an innocent person has been sent as 
a means to gratify some passion or appe- 
tite, or some opinion. In such cases, the 
theory that the end justifies the means was 
abused and not justly used, and deserved 
to be condemned. The reader will readily 
discriminate between a just and an unjust 
application of this theory. It is a mooted 
question whether there are not times when 
a lie may be told as a means of saving the 
life of an innocent person, or for the pur- 
pose of preventing or diverting some great 
and threatening wrong or evil; when, if the 
truth were told the death of one innocent, 
or some dire calamity would follow. In such 

274 



cases the voice of casuistry is heard in the 
heatt directing that the question of right or 
wrong be referred to the conscience for a 
decision, and by it to abide, even though 
it be in violation of the laws of his country. 
But the objection to this doctrine, like the 
one under consideration, is, that it is so deli- 
cate in its nature and so liable to be mis- 
understood, abused, or misapplied, that it 
cannot be safely employed or endorsed. I sup- 
pose that when the disciples plucked the corn 
to appease their hunger,, they knowingly took 
that which did not belong to them, but did 
so believing that the end justified the means; 
that when Jesus drove the money-changers out 
of the temple, He did what He knew was a 
rude or illegal act, yet an act to be approved 
on the same theory; also, when He healed on the 
Sabbath day. His real excuse or plea being 
that the end justified the means. And so case 
after case of a similar nature can be cited. 
However, although the doctrine that "the 
end justifies the means," and its ally that 

275 



"might makes right," as well as the doctrine 
of casuistry, have been and are more or less ap- 
proved and practiced by individuals and nations, 
and although proof can be furnished from 
sacred and secular history of the exercise and 
approval of such by those whom the world 
esteems as authority, yet, the truth is that 
they are dangerous doctrines or propositions, 
and should be allowed no place in the cur- 
riculum of ethics. 

The white lie, the society lie, and the 
diplomatic lie, that pass current so flippant- 
ly and without censure in our fashionable 
and diplomatic circles, are as base and wanton 
as any other lie, and are not to be justified 
by any law of necessity. 



276 



THOUGHT. 



If thought is the product of thinking, 
As one thinks so the product will be; 

If the product with falsehood is reeking, 
There a knave or a fool one may see. 

But thought is not mere comprehension, 
Nor the seeing or hearing of things; 

It is more than dispute or contention, 
From reflection and reason it springs. 

When Newton the apple saw falling, 
In thought straight the apple he caught; 

His reflection on reason went calling, 
So the law of the spheres to him brought. 

But thought has a sister in feeling, 

As oft in the product is seen, 
With a passion so strong in appealing, 

That reason uncrowned oft has been. 

With her heart and her arts thus assailing 
Stern reason and justice to sway, 

Oft sits she in product availing, 
With reason dethroned and at bay. 



LIFE'S PARADOX. 



I think betimes as you have thought, 
About grave things in books long taught; 
About the why and the how of things, 
How Life from Death, eternal springs. 

How things began, how things will end. 
And try to make cross reasons blend; 
That heart and soul may find relief 
From doubt that springs from blind belief. 

Poor Heart! poor Soul! why searching go 
In quest of what ye may not know? 
How things began — how things will end — 
God only knows, men but pretend. 

Despairing doubt doth him involve, 
Who seek's Life's Paradox to solve; 
Far better then to hope and love, 
And trust all else to him above. * 



THE DESIGN AND BUTTERFLY 
ARGUMENTS. 



Whether there is or not a Supreme Be- 
ing, a God, who created all things — regulates 
all things — knows all things — and who con- 
trols the life and destiny of all things; and, 
whether there is or not in man that which 
lives forever, that which is termed his im- 
mortal self, said to be his soul, are serious 
questions. 

With these two great questions, the most 
learned and astute intellects that the world 
has ever known have long and desperately 
struggled. Some of these great minds have 
concluded that there is such a Being. They 
have also concluded that man is immortal, 
that he has a life beyond the grave. Other 
minds, equally great, after a candid and 
thorough investigation and a sincere consider- 
ation of both questions, have arrived at nega- 

279 



tive conclusions. Both, the pros and the 
cons to these vital questions, have pointed to 
what they regard as being good and suffi- 
cient proof and reason for the truth or prob- 
ability of their opposing views. 

Now, there is, or there is not, a God. 
Man is, or he is not, immortal. If there is 
no God, and if man is not immortal, neither 
desire, assertion, nor argument, can create 
such. Whatever is, is. Things are as they 
are, whether we would have them so or not; 
or whether we are able to recognize them as 
being so, or not. 

THE DESIGN ARGUMENT, 

Now, as to the first proposition, it is 
maintained on the one side, that there is 
a Supreme, a self- existent Being — a God, re- 
siding outside of nature and independent 
thereof; that nature and all things created are 
only manifestations of his power and wis- 
dom. Again, it is maintained, aside from what 
the Bible teaches, that nature furnishes suffi- 

280 



cient proof to support and warrant a belief 
in the truth of this proposition. It is claimed, 
that in nature there is to be seen the evi- 
dence of design, plan, purpose, which would 
not and could not appear were it not the 
result of a master mind, a Supreme In- 
telligence, Yes, it is asserted, that every- 
where in nature one finds evidence of de- 
sign; that there, one sees order, regularity, 
uniformity, and adaptation of means to an 
end, which cannot be accounted for except 
upon the ground that back of all, prior to all, 
beneath all, above all, permeating all, subse- 
quent to all, superior to all, supreme and 
eternal to all, there was, and there is, a God. 
Hence, it is held that this is not a world of 
chance, but a world of design, a God made 
world. So, in nature, is found what is termed 
The Design Argument, which, it is asserted, 
strongly reenforces and corroborates the teach- 
ings of the Bible; namely, that there is a 
God. The force and beauty of this argument 
is to be found in Bishop Paley's work entitled, 

281 



Paley's Natural Theology. This species of 
argument is termed an a posteriori, one that 
proceeds or reasons from an effect or effects 
back to the cause or causes of such. 

THE BUTTEEFLY AEGUMENT, 

As to whether there is anything in man 
that is immortal, anything that at the death 
of the body parts company with it and takes 
on here, or somewhere else above the clouds, 
another and immortal form, is yet, in many 
a bright, learned, well-balanced, and candid 
mind, a mooted question. 

Assuming that there is a God, some 
ask: What assurance have we, other than that 
of faith, that there is anything that lives on — 
and on — and on — that never dies, that is im- 
mortal? If with the death of the body, (which 
we embalm, cremate, or lay away in the tomb,) 
that which we call mind, or spirit, dies with 
it, how is there anything left to live on, and 
manifest itself, in any other form? 

By our senses we know that things exist, 

282 



and appear to us for a time, in this or that 
form, and then, either by slow or rapid stages, 
decline and decay, go to pieces and die, ceas- 
ing, apparently, to exist. In our desire and 
grief we turn to science or philosophy for 
comfort. But science cannot go beyond the 
reach of the five senses. Grief stricken, we 
stand at the grave of departed love and ask 
proud science, monarch of the 20th century, 
to tell us whence came the life principle that 
animated the clay, and, now that it has de- 
parted, whither has it gone? To this ques- 
tion, tearfully asked, science hangs her proud 
and lofty head in silence, as she points to 
mystery seated on her throne in the clouds 
of faith. Emerson, America's proud philos- 
opher, standing by and moved by pity to 
give consolation, whispers to the weeping, half- 
doubting, and longing heart, words of phi- 
losophy from the cold and tearless throne 
of reason. Hear him: "The fact that I 
am, but know not how it is that I am, 
causes me to believe that I may exist in some 

283 



form or other beyond the grave." These words 
remind the weeping heart of the words of St. 
Paul, viz: "Faith is the substance of things 
hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." 
And so the grief stricken heart is left to 
cling to hope and faith and look to the 
cross for complete assurance and consolation. 

However, learned and devout believers in 
the doctrine of a future life, have sought to 
find, outside of the teachings of Christ and 
the Bible, corroborative evidence of the as- 
surances therein taught of a higher life. 
This they claim to have found in Nature. 
Thus, the learned and renowned Bishop But- 
ler, in his analogies, points to the evolution 
of the butterfly. He notes that there is first 
the egg, which hatches the worm or cater- 
pillar, which afterwards finds death in the 
form or tomb of the cocoon, from which 
finally emerges the beautifully winged but- 
terfly. So, by way of analogy, he infers and 
argues that within the body of man there 
is, somehow and somewhere, that which comes 

284 



forth at the death of the body and manifests 
itself in a higher and more beautiful life, 
even as does the butterfly, from the crawl- 
ing worm or caterpillar, buried for a time 
in its tomb, the cocoon. 

This is, perhaps, one of the most forci- 
ble and beautiful arguments that has ever 
been drawn from analogy in favor of a future 
life. Oh! yes, it does seem, aside from de- 
sire, or anything taught in holy writ, that 
the greater weight of evidence and sound 
argument points to the existence of a Supreme 
Being, and a life of some sort, beyond the 
tomb. 

There are moments in our lives when angels 
of light seem to visit us, and, lifting us above 
the wild distractions of earth to a calmer 
sphere, there whisper to us of a better, a holier 
place, where the sordid passions of gain and 
greed are not known, and where all is as one 
endless, happy dream. 



285 



WAITING. 



Waiting, — still waiting, — 

How many that wait, 
Hoping, and longing, 
As never too late; 
Waiting and hoping and longing to be 
Something — from doubting and care to be 
free! 



Waiting, and looking 
To see the sun set; 
Shadows are lengthening. 
Why comes he not yet? 
Thus thinks the maiden, and softly the sigh 
Serves as an echo responsive to — "Why?" 



Waiting and trusting 

His plans may mature; 
Lavish with labor 
Success to ensure; 
Thus waits the youth as he looks with 

delight 
On the picture bright in the distant light. 



Waiting and sighing 

O'er life's bitter cup; 
Hope, almost dying 
While drinking it up; 
Deeming the pleasures of earth but a dream 
The weary are anxious to end the scene. 



Waiting and anxious 

From earth to be free, 
Leaving to others 
Life's mutable sea; 
Vainly regretting the joys that are fled, 
And longing for rest — with the quiet dead. 



Many, thus waiting, 
Restlessly waiting 
For Death's slow approach, 
Life almost hating; 
As, weeping for those who have gone 

before, 
They wait to pass to the opposite shore. — 



We too are waiting — 
Waiting for what? 
Sunshine and shadow 
Shall both be our lot; 
So let us, enjoying the sunshine, wait 
For shadows that never can come too late. 



LAW, 
A FEIEND OR FOE. 



This little word of only three letters 
represents that which is supreme, that which 
rules the universe. There is law, yes, im- 
perious law, everywhere, unseen though it be, 
save in its effects. And to it, man must 
submit or suffer the consequences of his 
ignorance or opposition. If he respects its 
irresistible and irrepressible nature, if he acts 
in harmony with it, then he finds in it a 
friend; but if he ignores or heeds it not, 
then it becomes at once his enemy, and in- 
flicts upon him penalties that are more or 
less severe. This certainty he learns from 
observation and experience, a certainty that 
commands his respect and confidence. Yes, 
self important, haughty man, knows by ex- 
perience that he cannot trifle with the laws 

289 



of nature with impunity. He may fume 
and spume, or revile, but this will avail 
him naught, for the laws of nature will not 
change nor adjust themselves to his plans or 
wishes. He is born a subject, Nature is 
ever his queen. He must adjust his life, 
plans, and actions, so that they will not con- 
flict with her laws, otherwise failure or pen- 
alties are sure to follow. 

But these are not the only laws to which 
man is subject. Men make laws. So,' he 
is not only subject to the laws of the uni- 
verse but to those made by man. But how 
imperfect and unreliable are the latter in 
comparison with the former. Nature is hon- 
est, sincere, impartial, constant, and uniform. 
Her laws are practically the same yesterday, 
today, and forever; while those of man, like 
himself, are prone to be insincere, fickle, 
partial, and inconstant. Hence, we find him 
not only in conflict or trouble with the laws 
of nature, but especially so with those of 
his own making. 

290 



But what is law? what is this something 
that we are subject to, about which we read 
and hear so much, and that so many of us 
fear bmt know so little about? Well, this 
something, this force in Nature that we call 
law, but cannot see, is nothing more nor less 
than the manner — the way — the mode — in 
which she exists and acts in her various de- 
partments. In the vegetable department, the 
rigid forces or laws of heat, light, and moist- 
ure, acting in conjunction with the chemical 
properties of the soil, bring forth fruits, flow- 
ers, and the different foods which nourish 
and help to sustain animal life. In the 
animal department we find other forces, or 
a set of laws, producing bone, blood, brain, 
and muscle, etc. In the mineral department, 
still another set of laws, fashioning gems, 
crystals, gold, silver, and ores of various kinds, 
etc. Thus, in the three great, grand divi- 
sions of nature, law is supreme. There, it 
rules more absolutely than any monarch ever 
ruled his subjects. There everything is definite, 

291 



and ever at work according to fixed and ir- 
reversible rules, whether man so comprehends 
it or not. This being so, is it any wonder 
that we respect and place implicit confidence 
in her laws, and seek to know them? They, 
unlike man made laws, are never subject to 
repeal or modification ; there, they operate year 
after year, and for all time, affecting all alike, 
the rich and the poor, the high and the low. 
Were it not so, were it not for this certain- 
ty, this impartiality, uniformity, and constancy 
of force and action in the material world, 
of which man in a certain sense is a part, 
and upon which his life depends, all would 
be chaotic, and he would be well nigh crazy. 
If at times water were to run up-hill and 
then down, if it had a volition of its own, 
and could and did run whichever way it 
might choose; if corn when planted produced 
potatoes; if heat did not always melt solids; 
if it did not always expand and cold always 
contract bodies, as is now the case, and ever 
has been, and in all probability ever will 

292 



be; in short, if like did not always produce 
like, as it now does by a fixed law of nature, 
and if nature's other laws were changeable, 
what a chaotic, crazy world this would be. One 
has only to pause and reflect for a moment 
to appreciate the definite, permanent, and uni- 
form manner in which nature operates. 

Yes, by observation and experience we 
know that every effect has and must have an 
adequate cause; that this great relation be- 
tween an effect and its cause has always been 
its law; that upon this law man can and does 
rely, that upon it he acts, plans, and operates 
in the world of matter with an assurance 
that never disappoints him. Again, we know 
that light always moves from its source in a 
straight line, that from this line it never 
deviates, unless it be deflected therefrom by 
some object or obstruction in its pathway; 
we know that this is its law — a law of light. 
Then, again, we know that there is the great 
law of gravitation, and the one more general, 
known as the law of attraction, both of 

293 



which being of the same nature have kept the 
planets or spheres in their appointed orbits 
ever since their Creator set them in motion. 

These laws, and their associates, so won- 
derful in themselves, are beyond the com- 
prehension of man. He only knows that 
they exist and how they operate. These laws 
or certainties in the domain of nature, have 
made it possible for man to perform the 
many wonders or achievements that mark his 
past and present existence on earth. The 
quantities, qualities, and properties of matter, 
with their various affinities, were here long 
before his advent with his mathematics and 
instruments to measure them; long before he 
came with his laboratories to analyze and 
ascertain the various elements of matter and 
their affinities for one another, a knowledge 
that has enabled him to form so many com- 
pounds for art, commercial, or medicinal 
purposes. 

Yes, as we have stated, the various laws 
of nature are uniform and unchangeable; 

294 



when once known they are known forever. 
They are the same today in all parts of the 
world as they were when first enacted or 
created by the Great Unknown. The same 
sixty or seventy distinct elements in nature 
that man has discovered since his advent 
upon the earth have always existed. Nature 
is a great encyclopedia of rigid law — supreme 
law; of laws not made by man, but for him 
to discover. Man, as we know, cannot create 
anything, he can only detect what has been 
created by his Maker, and manipulate, use, 
or combine the same for his benefit, amuse- 
ment, or gratification. He perceives that 
nature is neither moody nor tricky, that she 
has neither appetites nor passions to gratify 
or appease; that she is at all times reliable. 
He perceives the beauty and regularity in 
which come and go the seasons; with what 
dignity, regularity, and uniformity, the sun, 
king of the orbs and king of the day, pur- 
sues his course and performs his benign work. 
Ah! what a serene and varied unit is nature! 

295 



How exact and true she is in all her different 
operations! What a school! what a college! 
what a university! what a teacher! True, 
Nature evolutes, but then her evolutions are 
gradual as well as regular, uniform, and 
constant. In her we see the laws of life, devel- 
opment, decay, and death, and the more won- 
derful law of constant reproduction or re- 
generation. This is her evolution. In this 
sense, nature is one grand unit of evolution, 
ever subject, however, to immutable laws or 
forces. 

But man, with his various appetites and 
passions to gratify or appease, with his moody, 
fickle, and tricky nature, makes laws. And 
as he is, so are his laws. Some of these, 
framed and passed in his wisdom and finer 
sense of justice and the fitness of things, 
receive the smile and approval of truth, while 
others evoke her blush of shame, her cen- 
sure and condemnation. Yes, in man made 
laws we see his head and his heart, his sense 
of right and wrong, his ignorance or wisdom, 



his sense of justice. Thus, as the laws of 
nature and her wonderful and admirable man- 
ifestations reflect the wisdom, goodness, power, 
justice, and unchangeable character of the 
First Great Cause, the Supreme Being, so, 
too, the laws of man reflect his ignorance, 
knowledge, moods, and his Dr. Jekyll and 
Mr. Hyde nature. In them and the man- 
ner in which they are enforced, we flnd 
his place and rank in the scale of civiliza- 
tion, progress, education and refinement, as 
well as his views and attitude concerning the 
great questions of theology and religion. 

MAN-MADE LAWS. 

Man is a great law-maker, and a great 
law-breaker. Being a mixture of evil and 
good, with appetites and passions that fluctu- 
ate and decay, with affections and aspirations 
for this or that, he is easily swayed by his 
avarice, his love of power, place, praise, or 
fortune; hence we find him sanctioning or 
seeking to make laws or to change those 

297 



already in operation, so that they may favor 
his good or evil designs. He knows that 
the laws of nature cannot be broken with 
impunity, but that those of his own making 
can be and frequently are so broken. Hence, 
according to the nature of his moods, views, 
or desires, his laws are ever a mixture of 
good and evil. Some of them bear the 
sanction and seal of justice, while others re- 
flect his cunning, selfishness, or greed. Some 
of them are enacted in the spirit of justice, 
while others indicate the work of an evil 
genius. Some are framed and enacted to be 
actually enforced, while others are intention- 
ally so framed as to be easily evaded, or 
with loop-holes in them for the vicious to 
escape from any sting that may be attached 
to their violation. Too many laws have been 
enacted on the principle that "might makes 
right," rather than upon the eternal principles 
of justice and equality. Hence it is, that 
one often finds in man-made laws an ex- 
emplification of the saying of Pope, that 

298 



"Man's inhumanity to man makes 
countless millions mourn." 

But the evils here spoken of are not 
always to be traced to those who enact laws, 
but frequently to those who are appointed, 
or elected by the people, to interpret, con- 
strue, or enforce the same. 'Tis a pity, but 
'tis true, that frequently incompetent or cor- 
rupt individuals are placed upon the bench, 
and there, from ignorance, prejudice or cor- 
rupt motives, serve his satanic majesty rather 
than the people and justice. Ancient as 
well as modern history is replete with such 
instances. Again, this incompetency, preju- 
dice, partiality or corruption, so frequently 
seen sitting on the bench, is often character- 
istic of those whose executive duty it is to see 
that the laws are observed or enforced with 
impartiality. 

To the three evils above mentioned, may 
be traced, to a great extent, the beginning, 
rise, and rapid growth of the organized spirit 
of Socialism that seems today to have taken 

299 



such a firm root in America and European 
countries with its many bold and brilliant 
crusaders. 

It is to be observed that the laws of 
nature are few compared to those made by 
man; that she is not so moody or change- 
. able, that conditions in the natural world 
are more stable; while in human affairs con- 
ditions are constantly changing, thus requir- 
ing new adjustments; hence new laws or 
rules of conduct are required to meet such. 
It is therefore necessary that old laws or 
rules of action be repealed, modified, or en- 
tirely set aside, and that new ones, more 
in harmony with new conditions or order 
of things, be made to take the place of the 
old. 

From childhood to old age one hears it 
said, "you must not do this, and you must 
not do that;" or, "you must do this and you 
must do that," etc. Or, again, "you may do 
this or that thing, but you must do it in this or 
that manner, or at such a time or place." 

300 



Now the words may and must, in the 
above sense, imply power or law. All that 
law does or can do is to prohibit the doing 
of an act, or command that certain acts shall 
be done, or permit certain acts to be done 
in a certain manner, or at a certain time 
or place, with added penalties for disobedience. 
This is law. This is what makes it possi- 
ble for men and women to live together in 
a state of society. So, the laws of man are 
as numerous as are the different interests, 
views, or conditions of society. 

THE STING OP LAW. 

That which is called the penalty of a 
law is its sting. This is the only thing in 
any law that man fears. Few indeed are 
those who obey a law that interferes with 
their pleasure or interests from any love for 
it. Love and duty, when left alone with the 
appetites and passions, are more prone to 
yield to seductive influences than they 
are when chided or threatened by a sense 

301 



of law that springs from a knowledge of the 
sting that may follow the breaking of it. 
It is this fear of the sting that restrains 
men and holds society together. 

Take away the sting and the whole social 
fabric falls. 

This sting of the law has many forms. 
Sometimes it manifests itself in taking from 
the law-breaker his property, his liberty, or 
his life. Again, we say, it is the sting of 
the law, or the penalties attached thereto that 
gives it its force or effect and causes man 
to respect or fear it. Again, its sting or 
penalty is just or unjust, as it is in 
proportion to the injury inflicted by an act 
to persons or society against whom such may 
be committed. 

But it is not the purpose of this essay 
to enter the wide and intricate domains of 
law and there point out particular instances 
of the truths above stated. All that we 
have attempted to do has been to call the 
reader's attention to the net- work of law with- 

302 



in whose folds he is, from birth to death, 
a subject; and note in a general way the 
stability of the laws of nature, and the un- 
certain and fluctuating character of those 
made by man. 

Of Law, the learned Richard Hooker 
fittingly says: 

"There can be no lees acknowledged, than that her 
seat is the bosom of God — her Toice the harmony of 
the world: all things in heaven and earth do her 
homage, the rery least as feeling her care and the 
greatest as not exempted from her power." 



803 



PAT AND I. 

Then we loved eacli other much, 

Pat and I; 
When we worked upon the farm, 

Pat and I; 
Then we loved the hoe and rake, 
And the ax that drove the stake. 
Loved our mother's pie and cake, 

Pat and I. 



Then we loved our sister Kate, 

Pat and I; 
Loved the Christ that in her spake, 

Pat and I; 
Oh! the songs she used to sing 
Made the air about us ring, 
To our eyes the tears did bring, 

Pat and I. 



Then we heard our father's voice, 

Pat and I; 
And obeyed it out of choice, 

Pat and I; 
We were true and we were strong, 
Sought to keep away from wrong, 
And our honest lives prolong, 

Pat and I. 

But there came a time to us, 

Pat and I; 
When we thought the hoe a curse, 

Pat and I; 
For we'd heard or read in books, 
That it didn't become our looks. 
To work in fields or dig in brooks, 

Pat and I. 

So we left our mother dear, 

Pat and I; 
Left her sobbing, all in tears, 

Pat and I; 



Heard amid those sobs, a prayer, 
Heard her whisper — "O God! spare 
My dear boys from Satan's snare" — 
Pat and I. 



Now we live in Joliet, 

Pat and I; 
Long's the time before us yet, 

Pat and I; 
Mother's dead, and sister's dying, 
Father's all the time a-crying, 
And we both are always sighing, 

Pat and I. 

Oh! we would our lives renew, 

Pat and I; 
Better ways we would pursue, 

Pat and I; 
We would live as mother taught us, 
Spurn the evil that here brought us. 
Love the hoe, and Christ who sought us, 

Pat and I. 



THE FINAL HOUR. 



What pleasure is there in the final hour, 
Those long — sad notes — that fall from 

belfry tower? 
Oft comes the thought that naught but 

sadness brings, 
That starts the tear, — the thought of dying 

stings. 

Sad thought, 'tis best not with thee long 

to dwell, 
Best not to listen long to tolling bell; 
And yet, 'twere well to note the while, O 

heart! 
Yon bell shall toll for thee — all here must 

part. 

Oh final Hour ! sad, solemn hour of grief, 
From which no power on earth can give 

relief; 
Few here, indeed, are glad to welcome thee, 
From thy stern face, in vain, we seek to flee. 



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